


The Master of Hounds

by Rap541



Series: The Fox Hunt Series [2]
Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Amnesia, Fix-It of Sorts, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-10
Updated: 2016-05-25
Packaged: 2018-03-29 22:08:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 19
Words: 57,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3912391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rap541/pseuds/Rap541
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the events of The Fox Hunt, things are still awkward at Downton Abbey. Matthew is alive and well, with his memory intact but the trial of the Duke of Crowborough looms, and it could have long term ramifications for the Crawleys and the estate.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> The Master of Hounds is clearly a sequel to The Fox Hunt. There will be some frank sex talk at times and since this is a 1920s setting, not everyone is going to react to rape victims or homosexuality with 2015 sensibilities. This isn’t dark for the sake of being dark, its mostly that I think a)bringing a dead character back to life should have some difficulties and b) the events of The Fox Hunt should have some ramifications to more than just Matthew and Mary.

Sometimes, when he was walking about the estate, or going over the books with Robert and Tom, or bantering with Mary at the dinner table, he completely forgot the accident, and the impending trial. Sometimes, especially when he was playing with George, it was easy to ignore that he had missed an entire year of the child’s life. And sometimes, when he was in a receiving line greeting guests that everyone was certain he hadn’t met before, and he was completely certain he had, then it was next to impossible to ignore.

“Lord Eddington, it’s a pleasure to meet you,” Matthew said stiffly. He held out his hand to the older gentleman. Eddington shook his hand and let go. For a moment. Matthew took pleasure in the obvious terror in the man’s eyes, and then shook it off. Eddington had his wife and eligible daughter in tow and a gangly teenage boy of a son no doubt wearing his first set of evening dress. It wasn’t worth it, he decided. All I would do is destroy a family publically. “Lady Mary tells me you and Countess Eddington are great patrons of the arts.” I won’t make a scene if you won’t, he mentally added to the statement.

Eddington nodded, almost white with surprise. “Thank you,” he said almost breathlessly.

“I told you,” Lady Eddington said brightly, “that Lord Grantham wouldn’t invite us to dine unless young Mr. Crawley was quite well.” She smiled at him pleasantly. “Harold was worried that we were imposing. Silly, I said. People don’t send out the invite if they aren’t up for guests.”

“Quite right,” he said easily. No one would appreciate it if he raised up the truth. It caused nothing but pain to the wife, son, and daughter, and god knows it did no good. He said his name was Malcom, Matthew thought as the Eddingtons moved down the receiving line. Some of the guests at the Duke’s estate used fake names, he realized that once his memory had returned. He had just never really considered the ramifications of that. It was a shock. He had never met Lord Eddington as himself. It was also off putting to realize that Lord Eddington used his son’s name when on weekend vacations to bacchanalian parties at Crowborough Place. Judging by Lady Eddington’s pleasant words, she likely had no idea that her husband had ever socialized more than casually with the Duke.

Still, as much as it wasn’t worth it to make a scene, he dearly wanted to. It would just ruin everything. That meant he had to continue to smile pleasantly all throughout the small dinner party and not glare daggers at the man. It was more difficult to drink scotch after dinner with the man while Robert nattered on about the estate’s new modern cottages. It got unbearable as Malcom the teenage boy expressed an interest in one of Robert’s favorite writers and Robert had to delight in taking the boy to the shelves where his signed copy was, leaving Matthew alone with Eddington.

Eddington glanced nervously at Robert and his son at the shelves on the other side of the large room and then said softly, “Please don’t expose me.”

Matthew gritted his teeth. “I obviously have no intention of doing such a thing, Lord Eddington. Exposing you, as much as you do deserve it, does nothing but destroy your life and mine along with it. So shut your mouth and be grateful I have more concern for your wife and children than you ever had for mine.” At least, he thought darkly as the older man looked down into his drink, he has enough decency to feel some shame.

Finally, Eddington nodded. “I deserve that. For what it’s worth, I had no idea who you were. We never met… My wife attended some events here during the war but I never…”

“Shut up,” Matthew said simply. “What you did… it shouldn’t have mattered if you knew who I was. So shut your mouth and pray that the Duke doesn’t make a death bed confession. Because he’s the type to do it out of spite.” And Eddington deserved to share that worry, if there couldn’t be any other revenge.

“Oh god…” Eddington paled and then took a long drink. Robert came back with young Malcom in tow, smiling with pleasure.

“You have a fine son,” Robert said pleasantly. “I was never so clever at his age. Malcom, you should chat Matthew up. Matthew went to Oxford, you know. He should be able to give you a better conversation than I.”

Hard to believe that chit chatting with a nervous 16 year old about academic life was the best part of the evening, but he allowed it was better than attempting conversation with the boy’s father. He rather felt sorry for Robert, stuck with Eddington, who was too worried to do much more than nod, but Robert had dealt with worse conversationalists.

It was Mary who seemed to sense something was off but she waited until after they were alone that evening in their bedroom to start the interrogation. “Lord Eddington was as quiet as a mouse all through dinner. Even his wife thought it was odd.” She took off her robe and climbed into bed, folding the covers over to invite him to join her.

He doubted she’d be in the mood after he told why Eddington had been so quiet. On the other hand, it wasn’t worth lying about. “I think,” he said as he got into bed next to her, “that he was trying to avoid having an unpleasant secret about his life be discussed at the dinner.” Which made it even more ironic that Lady Eddington, who hadn’t been able to attend their Christmas party that was now *the* party to have been to, was full of not terribly subtle questions about what happened.

Mary rolled up on an elbow to look at him, her expression somewhere between concerned and angry. “You told me you didn’t know him, that it was fine to invite him to dinner…”

“I’d never met Lord Eddington, that’s true but…” he sighed as she waited for an answer. “He used a different name. At Crowborough Place.”

She frowned and rolled back onto her pillow. “I’m sorry,” she said after a long moment. “This must have been hideous for you.”

He put his arm around her. “It was just… Painfully awkward. And surprising. It never even dawned on me that people weren’t using their real names.” That was something he had never considered beyond the abstract. With his memory returned, if occasionally touchy, he knew when someone mentioned a name, to consider if it was a name he knew.

She hugged him tightly. “Did he hurt you?”

“Not… Not the way you think.” He struggled to find a way to make her understand but he suspected it was next to impossible. “This isn’t an easy topic.”

“I know,” Mary said after a long moment. “And truth be told, I’m terrible to share with because all I want to do is tear everyone who hurt you limb from limb, because it horrifies me so that anyone would hurt you for any reason. But… it’s never going to stop being awkward unless you talk about it.” She pulled him close. “I’m always imagining the worst…”

“This wasn’t the worst,” he said gently. “I’ve told you about the worst.” The worst was that last night, in the field, and she knew about it, because he had told her. “There was never anything worse than that.”

“I believe you,” she said, her voice soft. “I also believe that the very worst you were injured in the war was that last battle where your back was hurt and you spent close to a year unable to walk. That was the very worst you were hurt then, and yet I can remember how desolate and worried, and yes, hurt, you were before that, when you were on leave.” She pulled him close and held him. “Just because it wasn’t the worst thing, it doesn’t mean that he didn’t hurt you. Tell me. I know the worst already.”

“I just… I feel so stupid. That I allowed it.” His face burned with shame.

“You were injured so badly, you didn’t know your name. When you were injured in the war, was it your fault your legs didn’t work?” For someone who had spent her entire life living in the lap of luxury, he could still marvel at how pragmatic she was. “You were hurt and we had to help you heal and until you did, you needed a wheelchair. No one blamed you for not being able to walk… Except perhaps you, yourself, and you’ve always been too hard on yourself. This is no different. When Papa brought you home to us…”

“Yes, I know, he lectured everyone on how to act since I was such a miserable mess,” he finished for her.

“While yes, that happened, that wasn’t my point,” Mary’s voice held a hint of sternness. “My point was that you were hurt, and we had to help you heal, and until you were better, no one blamed you for being nervous, or going down to the kitchen instead of ringing the bell and breaking every dish in the process. Because you were hurt. So tell me what he did.”

Matthew sighed. “It’s what I did. I broke a teacup.”

 

\---

_He knew it was going to fall even as he grabbed for it. The delicate cup dropped to the floor and broke. “I’m so sorry, your grace,” he cried as he dropped to his knees. Please don’t be shattered, he prayed, and for once he saw he had some luck. Just five pieces._

_“You stupid bloody oaf, have you broken something again?” His grace turned to the guest he’d been chatting with, an older man he’d been told to call Mr. Malcom and shrugged. “John here is my newest acquisition, and my prettiest by far but for all he’s been a willing student, it seems like we can’t go a meal without a broken dish. How many pieces is it, John?”_

_“Five, your grace,” he said quickly. “I’m sorry, your grace.”_

_His Grace smiled. “Of course you’re sorry. But we’re at the start of the meal, so your punishment will need to wait.” The man smiled. “It’ll be part of the dessert course. You’ll need to remember how many strokes of the crop you’re due. If you forget, you get double. Does that seem fair, John?”_

_“Yes, yes your grace,” he said quickly. It was kind, the master of the house always tried to help him with his flaws. And five… I have five fingers on my hand, I can remember that. Five smacks with the riding crop, even if it was Hightower, that wasn’t that bad. It was relief enough that he was able to focus on the service and not worry._

_Five, he repeated to himself as he held the tray for Mr. Malcom, Five fingers, five pieces._

_“Is he a half wit?” Mr. Malcom asked. “Your estate is genius, you’re lucky to be in a position to indulge, but you didn’t seem…. Forgive me, the charitable type.”_

_“Oh you’re quite right, on both counts,” his grace answered. “I’m not charitable at all and everyone in this household earns their keep one way or another. No, my foxy little project is damaged goods. A pretty package with just enough going on upstairs that he can manage simple tasks. Sometimes he even learns new things. You should try him tonight.”_

_Mr. Malcom looked curious. “Well, if he’s simple, isn’t that a bit unkind?”_

_His grace laughed. “Oh Malcom, it’s so much easier when they’re simple. He’s not my first, you know. There’s less whining and intrigue for starters. You don’t even have to worry about him remembering you were here. He’s quite broken to the tasks of the bedroom. It’s quite fun really, a partner who does exactly what he’s told.”_

_“Intriguing for a night’s delight, but how do you get such obedience?” Mr. Malcom asked._

_“When they’re simple, it’s just a matter of reinforcing your orders with punishment. In this particular case, whatever damaged him effects his mind to the point that he genuinely remembers very little of what he’s told, but lessons reinforced with a good cuffing or a few strokes of the crop seem to stick. Don’t worry, he’s like a constantly cleaned slate board. Let me demonstrate. John, come here.”_

_He stepped over to the table. “How may I help you, your grace?”_

_“Just answer some questions for me, John. And don’t worry, you’re not in trouble…” His grace smiled at him. “John, how long have you been here?”_

_He felt his fear increase. It was the game the servants teased him with. They laughed at him and hit him when his answers were, as the cook put it, too stupid to be believed. “I… I don’t know, your grace.”_

_“What day is it?”_

_That was easier. There was a guest so it was Friday or Saturday. He guessed. “Friday, your grace.”_

_Both Malcom and the master chuckled. “Who were we talking about just now?”_

_The worst part about the question was that he knew he should know the answer but he didn’t. Because he’d been concentrating on five. Five fingers, five pieces, five strikes from the crop. “I don’t know, your grace.” He trembled. Too many bad answers always led to hitting._

_Instead of striking him, his grace smirked. “Let me give you an easy one. What is your duty?”_

_That was easy. “To do what I’m told, your grace.”_

_“And if I told you to drop to your knees and pleasure me, the way you’ve been taught, would you?”_

_Another easy question. He didn’t like the task his grace was talking about, but it was a far easier thing than having Hightower punch him over and over and then force him to do it to both his grace and Hightower. He’d learned that particular lesson all too well. “Yes, your grace.”_

_His grace nodded and gestured at him to Mr. Malcom. “You see? All he knows is what we tell him.”_

_Malcom nodded. “It’s like having a biddable child in the body of a man, an astonishingly handsome man at that. I must admit, I am tempted by your offer.”_

_“Then please accept.” His grace turned to him. “Tonight, after your punishment, which I will administer, you’ll attend Mr. Malcom with his bedroom… duties. Is that understood?”_

_“Yes, your grace,” he said, with no small relief. His grace had a lighter hand with the crop than Hightower._

~*~

Mary was silent for a long moment. It made him worry. He didn’t want to keep secrets from her, and he didn’t want her worrying, but the odds were that it would happen again, that someone who had abused him while he was in the throes of his amnesiac stupor would be invited to dine at Downton. They were on borrowed time anyway, he was certain that the real story would come out at the trial. He was absolutely certain the reality of how he had been in those early months would be publicized, the prosecutor had said as much, that he’d be picked apart on the stand because he’d been little better than a dullard. The jury would have to know how incapable he was in order to understand why he didn’t leave. It was better that she knew it now, than having her find out at the trial.

Finally she said softly, “That’s…. not as awful as the time in the field, I will grant you that, but…” She pulled him close. “I didn’t realize, about the dishes. What happened if the cup had shattered?”

He tensed. It was veering towards even more unpleasant memories. “If it shattered, if there were too many pieces to count, then I’d get one hundred strokes with the riding crop.”

“One hundred?” She said it almost with a gasp of surprise.

“It never… It never really went that far.” Another awkward place to go, but more embarrassing than anything else. “I had to count the blows and…. To be honest, counting over ten was very difficult for months after the accident.” Much like keeping track of the days, or making change, or being certain what happened the day prior, he had struggled with that from the night of the accident until late spring of 1922, when the first floodgate in his mind had opened and he realized that he had worked a whole week without having to ask what day it was or if he had enough money for food. “Once I lost count, everyone would laugh at me and Hightower would hit me until he got tired or bored.”

“Which is also awful,” Mary said after a long moment. “Did… Lord Eddington abuse you?”

And how to answer that, he wondered. Because the truth was that the man he remembered as Mr. Malcom had been very gentle when alone with him. The man had massaged his bruised shoulders and yes, forced him to have sex in the sense that he’d asked if he felt up to it. The reality of that evening was that he had mostly been grateful that it had been quick, it hadn’t hurt because the man had been careful and mindful of the bruises and Eddington had mostly wanted to be held. Most of the guests, if he ignored the actual sex, had been pleasant enough. Some were rougher than others, but most of them had been like Eddington, easy to please once they were ready to say what they wanted. Even Philip, if he was alone, hadn’t been especially rough about it. Hightower of course, had always been brutal, and Philip almost always followed his lead but if he had to be honest, as much as he didn’t enjoy the acts, the reality was that a night with a guest was almost always easier. He didn’t like admitting that to himself, that he had never challenged any of the orders. He had been an officer in the Army and yet all it took to reduce him to total subservience was some mental confusion. Even if they somehow got through the trial without the sodomy being mentioned, there was no way to prevent people from knowing he’d been little better than a feeble halfwit. Even when he remembered it, he sometimes wanted to reach in and shake his past self into some sort of conscious awareness but he knew it would have done no good. Mary was very right about things at times. He had needed time to heal, and until that happened, anyone and everyone could have taken advantage of him. And had done so, including Downton’s most recent dinner guests

“Yes,” he said finally, “But there’s no point in wanting revenge. He is what he is, and exposing him would expose me. I’ll never have complete justice, Mary. All exposing Lord Eddington does is ruin his life, the lives of his family, and my life and the lives of my family as well. I know how angry you are, Mary. I know you are my stalwart defender, but nothing good comes from pressing this point.”

“I know,” she said after a long moment. “I know that it puts you in more danger but anyone who used you like you were an object for their entertainment deserves punishment. That I may not be the one to administer it doesn’t mean that I won’t relish it when it happens.”

That will have to be enough, he thought as he held her.

\---

He suspected what was coming. He was the under butler, not a footman, and while it wasn’t outside the realm of reason that Lady Mary would ask for a male servant to accompany her into the village, it was odd that she asked for him specifically. Thomas just marveled at what an unexpectedly good sport she was. Matthew Crawley had taken his advice to heart. They hadn’t been alone in a room together since days after the dreadful party. He thought Matthew was overdoing it but Matthew had more to lose and was newer to the game. Having the wife relay his questions was a bit of a surprise, he thought Matthew was more delicate than that.

Lady Mary was quiet until they reached the folly gates. “Barrow, I asked for you to accompany me for a particular reason.”

“I assumed as much,” he said easily.

“I would ask that… you not discuss what I am about to ask you about with Mr. Crawley.” She kept walking steadily as she spoke. “He would be quite… upset that I went to someone else to ask certain questions. At the same time, I think he is struggling a great deal and doesn’t need the burden of my concern and curiosity.” She gave him a stern look. “I must have your word on this, Barrow.”

“You have it, but you must know that most people don’t consider my word much reassurance.” He didn’t intend to blab, the reality was that being in the Crawley household with all the scandal rolling around meant his own secrets could come out, and worse, he’d actually been the lover of Philip, the Duke of Crowborough. He was surprised though. This is all her, he realized, Matthew hasn’t sent her with questions.

Lady Mary was quiet for a long moment. “Sybil trusted you. She told me once that you were a good man when you were allowed to be. She thought quite highly of you.”

“I miss her,” he said. “She… would have provided you with better guidance.”

Mary laughed. “She would have chided me for being silly, and then laughed to make me feel better. I miss her too. But she did trust you, Thomas. So I trust you to not tell tales.” She waited a moment. “My questions might be… blunt.”

“What do you want to ask me?” It was obvious she had questions, he just wasn’t sure what sort of answers he was going to give her.

“When… when a man gets on his knees and pleasures another man, what does that entail?” Thomas was surprised to see a blush rise to Mary’s face. “I confess… I’ve listened to more than one ribald discussion, so I have some idea but... Does it mean he used his mouth or his hands to bring another man to arousal?”

Oh god, Thomas thought. “It… could mean both, but it most likely means the first.”

“Do…. Men enjoy that? Homosexual men, I mean?” She was surprisingly matter of fact.

Despite himself, he laughed. “I’m sure it’s not just homosexual men who like it. Yes, men like it, Lady Mary.” And how sad for Matthew Crawley that it was apparently a surprise to his wife. Poor fellow indeed, apparently always on the giving end.

“Have you done it? To another man?” She seemed to curl up inside herself as she asked the question.

“I have. It’s not… it’s not an unusual request between partners.” He was unclear where she was going, truth be told. “I’ve done it, and I’ve had it done to me. By the Duke of Crowborough, amongst others. It’s… an intimate thing, Lady Mary. Not something I give freely.” He hesitated, because it was a difficult thing to say. “I loved Philip. I gave myself to him freely. I knew… That we could never be openly together but I won’t lie and say I wasn’t angry to be discarded. When he came here, to court you, he… Broke me. He rejected me in a way I’m not sure you can imagine and I always assumed it was my fault that I had pushed too hard.” He sighed. “I’m not as good at manipulating people as some might think. “

Mary stopped walking. “I never knew Philip as a monster. That he was a homosexual doesn’t shock me, but that he would find treating someone so brutally to be… a source of entertainment, that’s what surprises me. Matthew never met him. Any slight or anger he felt towards our family, it was never Matthew that had been unkind. They never even formally met. I know Philip might have been at some large gatherings that Matthew and I attended.” She looked at him intently. “I don’t pretend to understand why some men and women prefer their own sex, but love is love and if two people are in love then it’s their business and not mine. What I don’t understand is what pleasure there was in… watching Matthew humiliate himself, or forcing him to submit.”

Awkward, Thomas thought, because I do understand the impulse and Lady Mary has the tendency herself. “It’s not easy to be what we are, Lady Mary. If we’re found out, we’re destroyed. Your husband is essentially innocent in all of this and he will be vilified if what really happened is discovered. It sometimes makes it very easy to be angry, because sometimes it seems like everyone around you is happy and living a wonderful life while you have to hide the most important thing about yourself.” He wondered if it would make sense to her. “Sometimes, I see myself surrounded by everything I can’t have and wishing that just once I had all the power to make people dance for me, instead of having to dance for others. For what it’s worth, I don’t think Philip sought Mr. Crawley out. I think that was unfortunate chance, that Mr. Crawley turned up on his doorstep in such a state that abusing him was so easy. I mean, they obviously had played their sick games with others.”

“I don’t understand it,” she said after a long moment. She began to walk and he kept pace. “I mean, I’m not a fool and I won’t lie and say I’ve never delighted in being mean to someone. God knows with Lady Edith in Switzerland these last few months, I’ve been missing my favorite target, but there’s a limit.” She waited a long moment. “Was he cruel to you?”

A good question, Thomas thought. “Not on this level. I did threaten to expose him, and he destroyed the evidence I had to blackmail him, and he said he’d never be so foolish as to leave evidence again and then… Then I find out he’s been running a sort of invite only bacchanalian sex den in the countryside where the highlight of the season is raping and torturing some simple dimwit to death. I clearly didn’t know the man as well as I thought.” He realized suddenly that he’d gone too far. “I’m sorry, Lady Mary. I didn’t mean to be so graphic.”

He was surprised to hear her laugh. “Barrow, I’ve been asking you to confirm whether my husband used his hands or his mouth to bring another man’s penis to erection. I clearly am the one being too graphic.” She was quiet for a long moment. “I suspect I am trying to find a reason for something that doesn’t make sense. If I ignore that it was my husband, I still don’t understand the pleasure in it.”

“Well, congratulations, Lady Mary, You’re not evil.” Thomas tried not to laugh. “I’d never thought I’d say that to you, but that’s the truth. You don’t see the pleasure because you understand that it was cruel.” He considered his next words carefully. “If it helps at all, know that whatever humiliation Mr. Crawley might have borne, I think far more highly of him now, because he was unwilling to let the horror continue. I wouldn’t have thought any less of him if he had simply decided to push it all away. I’m sure there’s any number of things that will be made public that he would prefer people not know about his… condition.” He didn’t see Matthew as a very prideful man, but there were any number of things other than the sex that were going to turn the man’s life into a living hell. He remembered all too well the cringing, flinching mess of a man Matthew had been when he first returned. It was easy to imagine how much worse it had been early on when the man had been barely functional. People already found it hilarious that the heir to an earldom had been in and out of workhouses when he wasn’t working as a laborer because he’d been rendered daft from blows to the head. If the sex didn’t come out, and he was certain that they were kidding themselves about that, then the Duke’s lawyer would see to it that Matthew’s mental state was discussed in humiliating detail.

“I do know,” Mary said carefully.

“You’d prefer that he let it go?” It didn’t surprise him. People rarely gave the woman credit for being clever. It was all well and good that Matthew wanted to do the right thing, he respected the choice, but he didn’t see it ending well.

She shook her head. “There was no way he could let it go. An important part of being married, Barrow, is knowing what not to ask of your husband. As much as this trial will hurt him, it would hurt him more to know that Philip was still doing this to other men and he could have stopped it and didn’t. I couldn’t ask that of him. Which means this,” and she gestured all around, “is just a reprieve and soon enough the entire family will be social pariahs and Matthew will have the reputation of a mentally incompetent dullard who is also most likely a ponce.”

“At least you’ll still be titled and rich, Lady Mary.”

“Yes, there’s always that.”

 


	2. Chapter two

He didn’t like how the prosecutor, John Beesely, was looking at him. “You were more of a corporate lawyer, isn’t that right, Mr. Crawley?”

Matthew nodded. He wasn’t sure where the man was going. They had already had some preliminary meetings, to talk about the case. “I’m afraid my criminal law experience is quite small.”

Beesely eyed him carefully. “Entertain my curiosity, if you don’t mind. How badly do you want to see the Duke of Crowborough swing by the neck?”

He was taken back. “He murdered 19 men. He almost murdered me. He knew who I was and let my wife, my mother, and my entire family, mourn me instead of doing the decent thing and returning me to them. I think he’s earned the hangman’s noose. Are you thinking of offering some sort of deal?”

Beesely nodded. He stood up from his desk and began to pace around the small legal office. “Mr. Crawley, you present a difficult problem when it comes to testifying. You present several problems, actually. Obviously, the largest problem is your memory loss. A man who didn’t know his own name for a year is hardly a reliable witness. “

“I’m intensely aware of that,” Matthew agreed. “But Charles Blake can place me in the household, and Bill Murdoch confessed to sending me to Crowborough Place after I ended up in the workhouse he ran.”

“Mr. Blake is one man and oddly doesn’t seem to recall anyone else being there, which seems odd considering it was a party.” Beesely shoved a closed file across the desk to him. “And Bill Murdoch died last night. He hung himself. So he won’t be testifying. We have his written confession of course, but it’s not as good as live testimony, as I am sure you know.” Beesely resumed his seat behind the desk. “Of course we also still have nineteen bodies. We also have a duke accused of murder, which means many, many members of the peerage would prefer this all settled quietly. With 19 dead men, any deal will be lengthy prison time for the Duke, and lengthy sentences for the servant accomplices.”

Matthew considered it. Murdoch not testifying meant the bulk of the testimony would have to come from him. “Are you concerned that I might find testifying too difficult?”

“Yes,” Beesely said quickly. “I think you are a hugely problematic witness, and I think difficult is far too kind a word for how you’ll find it.” He leaned back in his chair and folded his hands. “In order to do my duty as a lawyer, I would have to report it if I suspected you of committing perjury. That means there are certain questions that I can’t ask you, because if I officially know the answers to those questions, I can’t allow you to commit perjury.”

“I haven’t lied to you about anything,” Matthew protested, although he had a sense of what was coming.

“No, you haven’t,” Beesely agreed. “But based on the suicide note Bill Murdoch left, I think you’ve left out some important facts that make this case much more difficult.”

“He left a note?” He felt sick. A note was a huge problem, especially in a court case. It would be considered a death bed utterance.

“Fortunately it wasn’t noticed by anyone but me, and I don’t think I’ll be entering it into evidence,” Beesely said. Matthew nodded numbly. Beesely was putting himself at risk with that decision. “You see, I think it was the ramblings of someone who felt the reality of his situation closing in. I doubt it was true, and I have no intention of pursuing it. I think he was lost in a fantasy world. I mean really, I think, if what he wrote was true, that it seems really odd that you never mentioned how after you were whipped and chased by the Duke and his servants, that they all took turns sodomizing you, and only then did the Duke leave you for dead. I mean, your memory isn’t that suspect.” Beesely grabbed a bottle of scotch from the shelf behind him, and poured a glass. “Drink that. You look a little pale, Crawley.”

Matthew did so, and waited for the other shoe to fall.

“I don’t want to ask you that question, because if I know the answer, I have to prevent you from committing perjury on the stand when the Duke’s attorney asks you about it.” Beesely smiled gently. “It’s a pity you didn’t look to criminal law. Despite your amiable exterior, you have the ruthlessness of the finest defense attorneys, all the more impressive that I think you had to come up with this masterful plan on the fly. Of course, I don’t want you to say anything, I just want to muse out loud for a moment.”

“All right…” Matthew said, still feeling numb.

“I believe,” Beesely said, “that the rumors about the Duke being a homosexual deviant are true. I believe on top of all the awful things you’ve told me, that he abused you sexually while you were mentally incapable. You realized, once you came back to your faculties, that decency demanded you stop the Duke from committing further crimes. However, you do have your own position and family to think of…. And Philip is, at heart, not the sort to handle the same painful punishments he delights in handing others. Which I think you know, and I also think you know how difficult life in prison is for someone who is an admitted homosexual. The two of you are like fighting falcons, you’re both firmly latched onto the other in mortal combat. You both want to destroy the other, and only one of you can survive and the problem is that one of you has to let go in order to survive. If the Duke lets go of you, he ruins you, but also faces being everyone’s new girl at the prison while he waits to die. If you let go…. Well, you really don’t need to, in this scenario, except that in order to keep your claws dug into his back, you’ll need to lie under oath when his lawyer asks the questions that I won’t. I don’t think that occurred to you when you came up with this otherwise masterful plan to stop Philip from killing more men.” Beesely waited a long moment. “My sense of you, Crawley, is that you’ll let go at that point and admit what he did because you don’t want the stain on your soul from lying under oath. He’ll use your essential decency to ruin you, and then hopefully he’ll be savagely assaulted by his fellow prisoners before he hangs.”

“I’m not… sure what I should say to that,” Matthew said after a long moment.

“Don’t say anything,” Beesely cautioned. “I have no interest in being right. What I want you to understand is that this isn’t the only way a trial can destroy you. Let’s pretend for a moment that Philip doesn’t have his attorney bring this up out of pure spite. Let’s talk about how you were working as a footman because you were so stupid you didn’t know your name, and how you accepted daily beatings because you were so terrified of a probably ponce half your size. They will ask why you didn’t simply leave, and you’ll be branded a coward because there doesn’t seem to be anything wrong with you. Then I will have to trot out witnesses, your family in particular, to testify just how feeble minded you were.”

“I’m aware I won’t escape this unscathed,” Matthew said. “There’s no way to stop this process, Mr. Beesely. There’s too much evidence, there’s nineteen bodies to account for.”

“Which is why I need to know, do you need to see him hang?” Beesely said it gently. “As I said, a lot of people want this to go away. There are people in high places who don’t want you to tell any tales, and more importantly, don’t want to be implicated in the Duke’s crimes. Any plea will involve a lengthy prison sentence. You wouldn’t have to testify and various unpleasant things that happened…. Could remain private.”

“I don’t need to see him hang,” Matthew said. He shook his head. “And you don’t need my permission to pursue a plea deal. I just… I just doubt he’ll take it.” The insight clamored in his head. “Philip enjoys control. If you offer him a plea deal, he will think he has the upper hand. And act accordingly.”

“What do you mean?” Beesely asked, clearly curious.

Matthew shook his head. “My life at that house was…. Completely controlled. I couldn’t make a move without Philip knowing what I was doing. He enjoyed that more than anything. I was his toy. He had complete power over me. I didn’t get to eat unless he allowed it, I had to do whatever I was told or else I’d be beaten. I had no idea that people didn’t live like that, and he… delighted in showing everyone, his guests, his servants, how completely he was in control of me. I had to do things that even now, even knowing and remembering how utterly confused and defeated I was, I can’t believe I did.” He felt his voice catch with emotion. “That night… that I was left for dead…. I was grateful that I wasn’t killed, because I knew I had displeased him so greatly…. And I was horrified to be sent off into the world that I’d been told I was so grossly incapable of handling….” He gave Beesely an intent look. “He will know that you’re trying to avoid a trial. He will use that to control the outcome.”

“You’re making me feel better about putting you on the stand,” Beesely said after a moment. “Personally, I want the bastard to hang and I want to watch him swing. I want Alfred Hightower to swing as well, and I dearly wish that Bill Murdoch wasn’t such a despicable coward that he took his own life rather than face the punishment he so richly deserved. I have to present the plea offer. It’s coming from very high places. But I suspect you’re right, that he’ll see the offer as a weakness to be exploited and not the only way he has to escape the hangman’s noose.” He sighed heavily. “Mr. Crawley… my concern in seeking justice for you is that I know what the end result is when two fighting falcons have latched onto each other. They both die in the fall. If the worst comes out, Mr. Crawley, do you have a plan?”

“My wife and family stand by me,” Matthew said, feeling a warm flush of affection for all of them. He was a lucky man.

Beesely nodded. “I meant, Mr. Crawley, do you have a plan for after the trial? Because I intend to do everything I can to prevent the worst from coming out, but I have a duty to bring these men to justice. There could be a scandal, and if there is, you might find it easier to… spend some time away from England. Your wife has relatives in America, doesn’t she?”

“I can’t emigrate, I’m Robert’s heir,” Matthew said after a long moment. No matter how tempting the idea was, he couldn’t indulge it. “I have a duty.”

“Oh that’s understood,” Beesely said. “But Lord Grantham is in good health and you might want some time away. To let the talk die down. Consider having a plan.”

\---

“This is the guest list for the dinner party this weekend,” Robert said, handing over the list as he sat down for breakfast. “I meant to ask, should we invite Mr. Beesely? Since he’s the lead prosecutor? Seems like we should be friendly at least.”

“You can certainly ask him but he won’t accept,” Matthew said as he took the list. “It would be inappropriate for him to accept any favors. Why do you want me to look at the guest list?” Even as he asked it, he realized his mistake. Of course Mary had gone to Robert, and of course Robert now wanted him to ok the dinner guests.

“Is there anyone you’d like to invite?” Robert asked. “It occurred to me, yesterday, while you were in Manchester with Mr. Beesely, that I never ask you if there’s anyone you’d like to invite?”

“Who would I invite?” Matthew asked tiredly. “Almost everyone I grew up with is dead from the war, and the few that aren’t are either quite awkward over having attended my funeral a year and a half ago or still haven’t heard I’m alive.” He looked around the table, realizing he’d been far too blunt. “I apologize, Robert. I am… in a foul mood, it seems.” He handed the list to Edith. “Edith, why don’t you add to the guest list? Surely you met some new people while in Switzerland?”

Edith, for a wonder, glared at him. She crumpled the list up and threw it at him. “Oh shut up, Matthew! You aren’t the only one in pain in this household! We all have problems, it’s just yours and Mary’s that always matter most!” She bolted from her chair and ran out of the room.

There was a long moment of quiet. “Don’t mind her, Matthew,” Robert said tiredly. “She’s been out of sorts since she came back from her trip.”

“Well, have you asked her why?” Matthew asked. Because she had a point. Edith had her flaws, but once he had come back to his faculties, he had realized that Edith seemed off. And the whole household tended to focus on him lately.

Robert and Tom both shrugged. “She’s never been one to talk until she’s ready to let us have it,” Robert said after a long moment. “She been in a mood since Michael Greggson disappeared.”

The name and face rose in his mind. He almost winced from the force of it and was thankful it wasn’t an unpleasant memory. The married newspaper man who… Edith had been seeing. A nice fellow, who had essentially asked his permission to court Edith at the hunting trip and he’d said no, because of the marriage that couldn’t be ended. A suspicion rose up in his head. “When did Michael go missing?”

“April of 1922.” Tom said quickly. “While you were away.”

Matthew nodded numbly. He would have been cleaning animal pens in the country, and slowly realizing he could name the last few villages he had wandered through. When he had arrived in Downton, it had been early September, and Edith had been both happy for him and yet oddly stressed. She had gone to Switzerland with Rosamund, and truth be told, he had been far too consumed with his own recovery to even much care why. Now that she was back, she seemed… softer. And sadder.

He had a terrible suspicion why and felt horrible. But it wasn’t a topic to raise at breakfast, in front of Tom and Rose. He made his way to her bedroom and knocked on the door. “Edith, it’s Matthew. I want to talk with you.”

“Oh just leave me alone, Matthew,” was the muffled reply from behind the closed door.

“No,” he said as he opened the door, and stepped in. “We’re going to talk.” She was sitting on her bed and it was obvious that she had been crying. It was also suddenly obvious to him that she looked… less of a girl and more of a woman. How can no one have seen this, he wondered. Mary if no one else should have seen the same things she herself went through. Except, he reminded himself, Edith was quite right. Everyone, Mary especially, had been wrapped up in the drama constantly swirling around him. He took a seat near her dressing table. “Edith, you’re right, and I am sorry. These last few months, the entire family has devoted itself to me and there has been precious little thought or attention given to anyone else. What is wrong?” It wasn’t just Edith, he realized. Poor Rose was soon to go to her coming out and no one really seemed concerned. Tom had lost his wife and no one seemed to notice the poor man trying desperately to find his place in the family. The only person who had mattered in the family for months was him, and to a lesser extent Mary, and it made him feel guilty. If only because he was certain he knew some of what had Edith so upset.

She wiped her eyes with a handkerchief. “Oh Matthew… If I thought for a moment that I didn’t already know your opinion, I’d even appreciate your concern.”

He was right. “Did Michael… get you into trouble? Is that why he disappeared?” He hadn’t thought the man as such a cad. The fellow had been quite taken with Edith but also quite honest about the difficulties.

Edith shook her head, even as she spoke. “He’s dead. I’m sure he’s dead. He went to Germany to get a divorce and some ruffians attacked him and no one has seen him since.” She looked down at her hands. “He left me power of attorney over the newspaper. If he was just a cad, he wouldn’t have put me in charge of everything he owned and valued, Matthew.”

It was a fair point and it occurred to him that it had barely registered on him that Edith had been managing Greggson’s newspaper. “Were you in trouble?”

“Did I have a child, you mean?” she said, her tone bitter. “Yes… yes I have a child, a daughter. Michael’s daughter…”

He saw it in an instant. Rosamund was complicit. He understood it, he understood exactly what Rosamund had been trying to salvage for Edith. He understood how heart breaking it was. He doubted he would ever stop feeling guilty about missing George’s first year of life. He also understood just how different the circumstances were. “Where is the child now?”

“With the Schroeders but...” She sobbed. “I can’t bear it, Matthew. I want her here with me, but everyone says it’s impossible.”

A child, he thought. George’s cousin, closer in blood than any relative he had, and he had wondered more than once what George’s life would have been life with no father and no hope of brothers or sisters. “It’s not impossible, Edith.” He sighed. “You just need to either be willing to lie, or to tell your parents what has happened. If you want to lie, it’s quite simple. You met a dear girl who was a widow with child and you agreed to be the godmother and the poor woman died and left you the child. If you need someone to write fake letters, I can help you. But you should consider telling your parents. They’ve forgiven much worse.”

“It’s not the same, Matthew.” Edith said after a long moment. “No one wants to believe the stories about you and the Duke. But not only will everyone believe I was a slut to a married man, there’s a child who will bear the shame.”

“Then we won’t tell your parents,” Matthew said quickly. He disagreed, it was the sort of thing that Robert and Cora both were likely to pick up on and would have if they hadn’t been distracted with the much bigger problem he had presented. With things calming down, one or both of them would put two and two together and realize who was really the mother of Edith’s new ward. Then he realized just what Edith had said. “What… Stories… Have you heard about the Duke and I?”

He felt sick from shock as Edith rolled her eyes angrily. “I’m sorry, I forgot that I’m in the part of the family that hasn’t officially been told that the Duke violated you. Let me guess, Mary decided I would be useless and no help, and Papa agreed.”

“No… I…” It was difficult to even breathe, the force of it overwhelmed him. “I was just embarrassed, Edith. Embarrassed and humiliated. I doubt… that there was a formal decision to not tell people. I could barely tell Mary and your father, and I had to tell Tom in order to get his help. There… was never a plan to not tell you.”

In an instant, she was at his side. “I’m sorry,” she said, her regret obvious. “I’m… completely out of sorts and I’m taking it out on you when you’re the one least to blame. I didn’t mean to be so blunt and I didn’t mean to make light of… your situation.”

A rush of cold fear enveloped him. “Edith… if no one in the family told you, then how do you know?”

She looked puzzled. “I’m running Michael’s newspaper, Matthew. It’s… I don’t know if common knowledge is the right way to put it, but it’s quietly understood that certain members of the peerage… have something to hide. Everyone knows that the Duke’s marriage was for show. And there’s been offers of stories, offers I’ve turned down.” She meant to reassure him, he could hear it in her voice. “No one with any decency is going to run the story without something more official than a wretched ex-servant looking to profit from a lie. It’s all rumors and suggestions.” She looked down at her hands. “I knew it was true because of how carefully everyone avoids the topic. I shouldn’t have thrown it in your face like a taunt. I’m sorry.” She was quiet for a long moment and then began to sob. “I just can’t believe that you’re willing to help me, Matthew.”

“But…” He stopped himself. She wasn’t seeing the problem. Much like she wasn’t seeing how bringing her illegitimate child to Downton was inviting all of the rumors into her own life. Still, her tears made it clear to him that, as she so aptly put it, he wasn’t the only one in pain. At least I can help someone in this house, he thought darkly, before the sword falls.

 


	3. Chapter three

“A plea deal?” Mary said. She knew it wasn’t what he wanted. She also knew he was telling them at a family dinner that included Violet and Isobel so that everyone would be careful with what they said. Isobel didn’t know the full truth, not officially, and one of Matthew’s stubborn stances on the topic was that his mother wasn’t to be told by anyone but him. It was silly, a rare time where she saw just how Matthew and Isobel resembled each other. Isobel was no fool, and Mary suspected she knew and had known the depth of the horrors Matthew had faced. Isobel knew and didn’t ask, because she didn’t want Matthew to feel he had to confess his sin to her. It wasn’t a sin to Mary, and she suspected Isobel felt exactly the same, but Matthew felt he was at fault for not stopping it, and Isobel didn’t want him to be more shamed than he already was. They were both trying desperately to not inflict any more pain on each other. She suspected it wouldn’t end well.

Isobel looked like she was struggling to not be angry. “Why would they even want a plea deal? They have more than enough dead men to see the Duke hang.”

“Why would you agree to that, Matthew?” Cora asked, the concern she had clear on her face.

Matthew set down his wine glass carefully. “Mr. Beesely doesn’t need my permission to do this. He was doing me a courtesy in telling me. Apparently there are people who would prefer that the scandal of a duke committing mass murder not be dragged out over months.”

Her father looked to say something and then seemed to reconsider it. He just realized the same thing I did, Mary thought. If the Duke pleads guilty, then Matthew wouldn’t have to testify. Matthew testifying worried her beyond belief. A lengthy prison didn’t sound like much punishment at all but she suspected that if there was a trial, it would be Matthew that suffered.

“I doubt that Philip would accept a plea deal,” Matthew said after a long moment. “But the offer will be presented soon so I thought you should all know.”

It was another topic to wait to discuss until they were alone in bed later that night. She joined him in their bed and let her head rest on his chest. “Are you very angry with the prosecutor?”

“I’m not angry with the prosecutor at all.” He said it so easily, she knew it was the truth. “He’s being pressured from high places to make this go away.” He pulled her close. “It would be easier, and safer, for everyone, if Philip took the plea deal. My mother is correct, the murders mean that Philip will never live anywhere but a prison. I don’t need to see him die. He can’t do this to anyone else. That’s the outcome I wanted.”

“I want him dead,” Mary said bitterly. “I won’t lie about that. You don’t want to know the depth of rage I have for him, for all of them.” She had more than once in the last few months daydreamed of slowly torturing Philip of Crowborough to death in exquisite detail. The accident was just that, an accident, just fate and no one’s fault. Philip had known who Matthew was the moment Matthew had been brought to his house as a servant from the workhouse. Matthew’s memories of the time made that clear. Far too many of the Duke’s sneering comments made more sense to him now that his memory was no longer suspect.

“Well, you’ll probably get your wish,” Matthew said after a long moment of thought. He held her. “Mr. Beesely suggested that… we might want to consider some time away from England. After the trial.”

She felt her blood run cold. “Does he think the truth will come out?”

“He thinks even if the truth is completely avoided, and apparently many people much higher than both of us want that truth avoided, I would still be ruined. With Murdoch dead, the bulk of the testimony has to come from me. That means I will have to describe how mentally incapable I was.” He sighed deeply. “After I get done explaining how remembering how to count past ten was beyond me for months, then Philip’s attorney will imply I must be lying as I seem quite well now. And then Mr. Beesely will parade as many witnesses as he can find to prove that yes, I was barely able to function and only slowly got better. You may have to testify to how scattered I was.”

“But you are well now,” she said carefully. She did see his point though. “No one can deny that.”

“But I will always be that chap that can’t quite be trusted,” Matthew said. “I can never practice law again. Robert can’t be rid of me as his heir but the tenants… are happy for our family’s sake that I was found to be alive, and worried that if I trip and hit my head, I’ll be little better than a drooling idiot. You’re not blind, Mary, and you’re not stupid. You’ve seen the looks I get. Everyone currently knows me as the poor fellow who lost his memory for a year. What they’ll know after the trial is that I was little better than a simpleton, to where I worked like a slave and let myself be horsewhipped because I didn’t know it was wrong. And I will have to display the scars on my back to the jury. There’s no way the defense attorney won’t force that point. That’s the best outcome.”

“You would think all of those bodies would be enough,” Mary muttered darkly.

“Not without a confession,” Matthew countered, taking on that clever tone he had when he knew he was right. “Without Bill Murdoch and I, Philip can claim those men just happened to die in the same place on his land.”

She saw the problem. “With Bill Murdoch dead, you’re the star witness.” With Bill Murdoch testifying, Matthew was less important, because Bill Murdoch was going to testify to the whole conspiracy, that he chose men from the workhouse that were good looking and simple in the head so that the Duke could abuse and murder them. Murdoch’s written confession was still valid to present to the court but now that he was dead, Matthew would have to bear the brunt of more difficult questions.

And if people in high places wanted the case done away with quietly, a thought occurred to her. “The pressure for a plea deal goes both ways, doesn’t it? People in high places don’t want Philip’s… tendencies and exploits paraded about?” It made sense. She didn’t like to admit it, but some of the people Matthew said no to having as guests at the house shocked her.

Beside her, Matthew sighed. “The problem is that my masterful plan to get Philip arrested for murder worked too well. There’s nineteen dead men that the public knows about and wants justice for. If it was one or two, a plea deal might work. They’d offer him a few years in prison, some story would be made up about his health, and the men he killed would be painted as hired hands that attacked him.”

“That’s… that’s awful, Matthew.” Worse, he said it in such a resigned way, she knew he saw it as common place.

“Come now, Lady Mary,” and he said her name in that teasing way he had when he wanted to make a point, “it’s never occurred to you that justice is different for peers and commoners? Be very certain of this, Mary. The only reason Philip is in prison right now is because I am heir presumptive to the Earldom of Grantham. Even if I was Matthew Crawley, a mere solicitor, and not simple minded John Fox the footman, a reason would be found for a duke to receive a lenient sentence. Philip was a fool to let me live, on so many levels. Anyone else wouldn’t have been believed.”

“I’m glad he was a fool on so many levels,” she said quietly. “Why does Beesely think you’ll need an escape plan?” Testifying would be difficult, and she wasn’t blind to the looks and whispered concerns that the tenants had. It was embarrassing for Matthew, and he was right in thinking he’d never be able to practice law again, but he was also clever enough to find something else to do. His ideas for the estate drove her father mad in part because they worked. He would see some mockery but most people would get past it easily, once he showed how clever he was.

Matthew was quiet for a long moment. “Philip won’t take a plea. I think he wants me on the stand and Mr. Beesely pointed out how Philip can destroy me. He is the vengeful sort, it might be worth it to him. His lawyer will ask me… about that night in the field… the act…”

“The rape,” Mary corrected. “You didn’t allow it to happen.”

He shifted uneasily. “That’s not the point. The point is that Philip’s attorney knows it happened and I’ll be asked on the stand if it happened. Then I have to decide whether I am going to lie under oath.”

“You won’t.” She knew him too well. The law and being a lawyer was something he considered to be a sacred trust.

“I can’t.” He entwined his arms with hers and pulled her tight. “I can’t and not just because it’s morally wrong. It is morally wrong and I will be taking an oath to tell the truth, but Beesely made it clear that he’ll go as far as to not ask me so he doesn’t have to know if I am perjuring myself. But, Philip will certainly know. If I lie, he’ll get on the stand and point out how I did lie, and he’s possibly got enough clout to bring a few people more on to testify. I’ll be ruined, a homosexual and a liar.” He paused. “At least if I tell the truth, I’m not lying under oath. If my attorney attempts to argue that it was all against my will, he will have to argue that I wasn’t mentally competent then but that I am mentally competent now. I have exactly one person I can call as a witness to testify on my mental state who isn’t also guilty of having homosexual sex with me, and that’s Charles Blake. And I don’t want to see him testify. It would destroy his life. People will see me as a pathetic victim. I at least was too stupid to know right from wrong. There’s no reason for Charles Blake to have been at that house as anything other than a homosexual participant.”

She was silent for a long moment, her thoughts racing. “You’re right,” she said finally. “Philip wants you to lie on the stand so that he can completely destroy you. Everything else, all of it can be forgiven and forgotten, especially since there are others who would prefer their own secrets not be revealed. But if you lie on the stand... there’s no taking it back. He’ll find someone to admit to having relations with you.”

“He might even do it himself,” Matthew said softly. “So that he wins our little conflict and lands the killing blow.”

“You can’t lie on the stand then.” She held him tightly. “There are worse things than people knowing.” Although it was awful. It was good that Rose’s season would be before the trial. It also gave her some time to plan. Beesely was right, they needed an escape plan. Grandmama Levinson and Uncle Harold were coming for the season. She could ask then. It wouldn’t be forever, it might not be long at all.

“I’m sorry,” Matthew said softly. “I can’t lie on the stand. I can’t… I can’t let him take that from me. I can’t let him win. I have to see this through.” He sighed. “I was wrong. I thought I was being so clever, that I was trapping him and getting him locked up and executed for murder, all without ruining the family. I have put you and the entire family through a nightmare and this trial will only make it a hundred times worse.”

She hugged him tightly. “The family will get through this, Matthew. As someone told me recently, we’re still titled and rich, we still have our friends, and we will be together.”

We could go to America if we have to, Mary thought to herself as she felt him relax in her arms, but I will do whatever I can to make sure the damage is mitigated.

\---

“You want me to plead guilty?” Philip said, finding it suddenly amusing. He exchanged a look with his solicitor. He perused the paperwork. “I’m not sure what incentive there is for me to make things easier for the courts.”

Beesely the lead prosecutor leaned back in his chair. “Personally no, I don’t want you to plead guilty. I think the only suitable punishment for you is the gallows. If this goes to trial, you will hang.”

“I may hang,” Philip said, a slight smile coming to his face. Dobbs, his lawyer, nodded. Dobbs was a fellow traveler who had done a fine job keeping his ear to the wall. “But I may not. I heard your star witness slipped the mortal coil. That leaves you with who? The lovely Mr. Crawley. The somewhat befuddled Mr. Crawley, as I am sure you know by this point.”

“Not so befuddled anymore,” Beesely said coldly. “And with all due respect, your grace, you are sitting here because of him, and not Bill Murdoch.”

“Yes… He does like to think he’s a clever little fox.” I should have let Hightower kill him, he thought again. Crawley had just been so… amusing as his toy. Murdoch hadn’t even known what a prize he was bringing to the door when he showed up with a trembling, nervous, barely coherent Matthew Crawley in tow as the next fox for the hunt. He’d been shocked himself, as the papers for the month prior had been all about the tragedy that had fallen on the Earldom of Grantham. He had never forgotten his humiliating stay at Downton Abbey. The only good thing that happened was that he had eliminated the threat of Thomas Barrow. Robert had scorned him, he’d been completely wrong about the inheritance situation, and then not only did Robert embrace the middle class lawyer as his heir, Lady Mary actually married the man. Every time he had seen them at public events, it had angered him that the pretentious little bitch had married a man who fit his every taste. It had been far too tempting, and he was paying the price for that indulgence.

Therefore Matthew Crawley had to pay as well. He set the paper work down, unread. “What is the offer?” That there was any offer was because certain people didn’t want certain secrets out and he had already considered playing that hand. The problem was that he was in prison and it was all too clear that his status only afforded so much protection.

“If you plead guilty to the murders and the assault on Mr. Crawley, you will get life in prison with the possibility of parole after twenty years. Any accomplice who chooses to plead guilty will get twenty years in prison.” Beesely leaned back in his chair. “You don’t deserve it, but you’re a peer and people in high places want to be generous. I suggest you take it. You won’t get a better offer.”

“I doubt that,” Philip said easily. “The only offer I’m interested in is having these ridiculous charges dropped.”

Beesely smiled thinly. “Unfortunately for you, I don’t think you have enough… Frightened acquaintances in high places to make that happen.”

Interesting, Philip thought. “We’ll see, won’t we?”


	4. Chapter four

“Charles! How lovely to see you!” Mary said brightly as she took a seat at his table. She was genuinely amused at how surprised he looked. Of course, they hadn’t seen each other since the awful party in December and she knew that it was through her own machinations that he was sitting in that particular restaurant because he had accepted an invite from Mabel Lane Fox. She had sent the invitation, of course. Because of the trial, and that Charles was an important witness, a certain distance had to be maintained. That was the official issue. The bigger issue was that it was simply awkward to have him at the Abbey. It was well known that he had been courting her. It wasn’t well known that he might be participating in the trial, but Matthew was insistent that Charles not be revealed, and that meant it wasn’t wise to invite him. He seemed to realize it as well, and hadn’t written any letters or called, which was why she had decided to trick him into seeing her in London. “No need to look so startled or worry about Ms. Fox… I wanted to see you and talk with you and this seemed the best way.”

Charles was startled but nodded easily. “It’s always good to see you, Lady Mary.” He grinned suddenly, his face taking on that teasing look that had so reminded her of Matthew. “I am just surprised that you don’t have Matthew with you. You were so attached at the hip. You’ve really left him alone in Yorkshire and come to London all by yourself?”

She laughed. “Actually Matthew is in London with me but he had some errands to run for the estate that involve sitting in offices for most of the day, and then he’s helping Edith with some legal work concerning her friend Michael Greggson,” which was odd but Matthew as of late had been oddly concerned about Edith. She assumed it was some sort of empathy for how Greggson was missing. “I have to remind myself that I can let him out of my sight without something terrible happening and this seemed a good way to start. He needs to be seen out and about by himself as well, just so people don’t assume something is wrong with him and this was a good way to begin. And it allows me to see you.”

“Which makes me curious,” Charles said easily, “since we both know you’re happily married.” He smiled slightly. “I actually was hoping it was Mabel, that she had finally decided to go back to Gillingham…”

“Why not make a play for her yourself?” she asked suddenly. “I know… I know the problem, of course, but you’ll still need a wife in order to leave an heir, for the estate you’ll inherit.” It occurred to her just how painful the situation was for him.

His expression grew sadder. “She doesn’t like me in that way, to begin with, and more importantly, I have no doubt she would want more from a husband than what I would offer. Why are you here to see me, Mary?”

She decided to be blunt. “Matthew is still protecting you.”

Charles nodded. “I’m aware of that, and I have told him I don’t deserve that protection. If he’s worried that I won’t testify on his behalf, tell him not to. I… have somewhere to go if I need to. I might go anyway.” 

“Matthew is convinced Philip’s lawyer will manipulate him into admitting that… the fox hunt took place.” It was, she realized, good to have a euphemism they could use in public. “He’s also certain that people highly placed would prefer that he not mention certain names when it comes to who he can confirm were guests at Crowborough Place.”

Charles leaned back in his chair. “I’m sure that’s true, Mary. I’m curious as to why you’re talking to me about it.”

“Matthew, for obvious reasons, can’t seek these people out to talk with them, and to be frank probably doesn’t want to see them.” His story about Lord Eddington still made her shudder in part because she could remember the early days of his recovery, where he could barely look any of them in the eye without trembling in fear. Knowing the reason now, she was more amazed than ever at his bravery. He had to have been terrified the day he walked back into Downton Village with nothing but a name and address and a vague promise from a senile old woman that Isobel Crawley was a kind woman that might know him. She looked intently at Charles. “I would like it known in those highly placed circles that Matthew isn’t interested in pointing fingers at anyone but the people committing murders.” She waited a long moment, to let Charles take it in. “He’s far more forgiving than I am, but I am his wife and I will abide by his decision on this.”

“Does Matthew know you’re saying this? For him?” Charles gave her a dark look.

“No, he doesn’t.” She said it easily. “I am asking, because I know his view on this. I can even give you the name of someone he chose to not reveal, despite how much that person deserved it.”

“I assume it wasn’t me,” Charles said sadly. “How awful his life is. Anyone who went to that house deserves his rage.”

“It wasn’t you,” she said, understanding suddenly that Charles Blake hadn’t been in contact with her because he felt terribly guilty. He was, she realized, almost shaking in the chair he was sitting in. ”I don’t pretend to understand what… what you are… but I can see it bothers you and I don’t understand why, if you knew it was wrong…”

“Why didn’t I stop it?” Charles finished. He sighed. “The easy answer is that I’m not as brave a man as your husband.”

“Since Matthew is the bravest man I’ve ever known, that is the easy answer,” Mary agreed. “I’m more interested in the harder one.”

“I didn’t want to go to prison, Mary. Do you understand what happens to men like me when we’re caught?” He sighed again. “I didn’t want to shame my family, and destroy my entire future over… a simple fellow with a damaged hand who would no doubt end up in as bad of a situation as soon as the public lost interest. I didn’t know they were planning to murder him. All I knew then was that the Duke would have used his connections to ruin me and your husband, who I knew as the simple fellow the Duke brought from the workhouse, would have been locked up in an asylum because he didn’t know his own name and could barely follow a conversation.” He eyed her. “I regret that decision, Mary, I do, and not just because I found out he was your husband. I was selfish, and frightened of what would happen to me if I was found out. I let your husband suffer. By saying and doing nothing… how many more men *died*? I don’t deserve your husband’s forgiveness, and I don’t deserve yours.” He clearly struggled to stay composed and Mary suddenly regretted that they were in a restaurant and not someplace more private.

“Charles, I didn’t come here to accuse you of anything or to blame you for anything that happened to Matthew.” That Charles was blaming himself was clear, and she didn’t feel the need to make it worse. “Matthew only did this because he didn’t want anyone else hurt. He’s not so forgiving that we’ll ever be inviting some of these people to our home ever again, but he also isn’t interested in… naming names and dragging everything and everyone out into the open.” Her father, of all people, had explained the consequences. Imprisonment certainly, possibly even medical treatment for the participants. Her father hadn’t spelled out what sort of medical treatment, he hadn’t needed to. “The prosecutor has been told to prevent a trial if possible, because certain highly placed people don’t want Matthew testifying about what exactly what happened to him. I just want those highly placed people to know that Matthew isn’t against the plea deal that has been proposed. He doesn’t want the… true nature of his duties at Crowborough Place to be revealed, and if it wasn’t for the dead men, he would have… just tried to blot out the whole ugly time. But there were dead men, Charles. He couldn’t be silent knowing that someone else was suffering. He wanted the Duke to be stopped. He doesn’t plan to say a word about anything other than the beatings and the murder attempt and the other bodies.”

She hesitated. It had occurred to her that if people highly placed were devoted to secrets being kept, then it was much easier for Matthew to be targeted than Philip. If something happened to Matthew before the trial, it was likely that Philip would end up with a negligible sentence. “I just want the people in these circles to know that Matthew isn’t the threat to them. Philip is. I think Matthew would prefer to see Philip hang, but as long as the man is in jail and not able to do this to anyone else, Matthew would accept that. He’s not the one standing in the way of a plea deal.” She felt her temper rising. “These people who are so worried about what Matthew might say are the ones who put themselves in danger. I know you’re sorry, Charles, but I struggle with forgiving you because... how could you, how could any of you not know that what you were doing was wrong? I’m not talking about your preferences, I’m talking about...” She lowered her voice. “I’m talking about forcing a servant into bed with you. How could any of you not know that was appalling? Man or woman, Charles, it’s wrong. How could you not know it was wrong?”

She was surprised to see him frown darkly, as if she’d said something out of turn. “Mary, don’t you know? Didn’t Matthew tell you?” Then his eyes widened as if he had suddenly understood something important. “No,” he said, more to himself than to her, “Matthew didn’t tell you because Matthew never realized, and even though he’s better now, he never really knew.” He leaned over the table, his expression almost amused. “Mary, this may be hard for you to believe but… No one, outside of the Duke and his servants, likely ever realized that Matthew wasn’t a willing participant.”

“I find that hard to believe,” she said, although she felt a sudden cold rush.

“Mary…” Charles hesitated but only for a moment. “Being invited to Crowborough Place was supposed to be like being invited to a fantasy. Only likeminded people were invited to stay, and the Duke insisted on hiring only likeminded staff. It was a safe haven, where you could be yourself. You have no idea what it is like, to always hide what you are. Part of the appeal of being invited was that everyone was… likeminded. All of the servants were… said to be willing. I only discovered Matthew wasn’t because…” He sighed.

“Why?” She couldn’t not ask.

Charles frowned slightly. “I didn’t like how Philip treated him. There are… people of my disposition and of yours, to be quite frank, who find part of their pleasure in… either striking someone or being struck. It’s not my taste, and I thought… I thought perhaps the poor pretty chap who seemed so slow didn’t know that there was supposed to be some give and take in such arrangements. He was sent up to my bedroom the first night I was there and he asked me what my pleasure was. And I decided to have a charitable moment and I asked him what he liked.” It was almost shocking to see a blush rise to his face. “When… I am with someone, part of the pleasure is knowing that they are enjoying themselves as well. I asked him what he liked, and he wouldn’t answer until I pressed him, and then he… flinched and said if he had his way, he’d be in his own bed, that he didn’t like any of his duties, but that if I sent him out early, he’d just be sent to another guest.”

He looked down, his shame obvious. “I didn’t do right by your husband, Mary. I accept that, and I accept any punishment that falls my way. But I only heard about the travesty of the fox hunt long after and I suspect many of the guests, including many of those who are among the highly placed that you want me to speak with, never posed those questions to your husband and took the Duke at his word that his servants shared his preferences.”

“Are you suggesting they’re innocent?” Mary asked, her anger rising but still controlled.

“I’m suggesting,” Charles said carefully, “that they may not consider themselves as guilty as you might. They thought Matthew was a willing servant. They’ve had an unpleasant shock these last few months. I will do this favor for you, because I owe it to both of you. I just can’t guarantee it will help.”

“That’s all I ask, Charles.” She hadn’t expected it to be a perfect solution, but she now realized it wasn’t as simple as asking people to be decent.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm a jerk. My thanks to fandroid on ffn for giving me some awesome betaing on British talk :D


	5. Chapter five

~*~

“No, I don’t object to this child living here,” Robert said, trying to find a way to be delicate about the situation his second daughter was presenting him with. “I simply don’t see why you want to adopt this child, Edith. I respect the promise that you made to your friend Gretchen, but you don’t have to adopt the child.”

Edith cradled the baby girl as she sat on the chair. Matthew stood at her side, and Robert had his suspicions about who helped Edith clear the way to bring the child to England. Tom was seated next to Edith, and he was already jingling a set of car keys at the poor thing. Cora was also clearly enamored with the new baby, while Mary merely looked more bored. Edith looked at him worriedly and then at Matthew, another clue. Violet was also giving Matthew dark looks but she was saving the harder looks for Edith. She looked firmly at Robert. “Gretchen had no family and her husband’s family died in the war. I couldn’t let this poor little girl be raised by strangers.”

Robert bit his tongue. Gretchen Latimer, whoever she was, was a complete stranger to all of them but Edith and Edith had referred to her as one of Greggson’s friends at the paper. He tried to put things in a more practical light since everyone was clearly already enamored with the baby girl. “Edith, I don’t mean to be indelicate but… you may find it difficult to find a suitor if you adopt some child of a friend’s, no matter how close you were or what promises you may have made.”

For a second, Edith’s eyes flashed in anger, a surprise, and then she composed herself. “Papa. I’m thirty years old. There’s no suitor waiting in the wings. There are so many men dead and shattered by the war, it’s unlikely that I will ever marry now. You can deny it all you like, but that’s the reality. I’d rather not spend the rest of my life waiting for a husband that may never appear I haven't ... Given up but I can't continue to sit here doing nothing . My friend Gretchen didn’t plan to die. Marigold needs a mother, and I can provide her a home." Edith hesitated. "I accept that Michael Greggson is probably dead. He left me in charge of his newspaper. I have an income from that so this child won't be a burden on the family, if that is what concerns you." "That isn’t what concerns me," Robert said. It wasn't entirely what concerned him, that was true. "I simply don't want you to settle. To settle for a life alone." Her expression brightened. "I'm not settling, Papa. Not at all." He gave his wife a look, and she nodded, obviously pleased. "Then I think," Cora said as she carefully took the baby from Edith, "that we should find a place in the nursery for my new granddaughter." She gathered up the other women with her eyes, and in seconds he was alone with Matthew and Tom. "I think the baby looks like Mary," Tom offered with a laugh.

“Don’t let Mary hear you say that,” Matthew said, also laughing.

It startled Robert because it occurred to him that Tom was right. The orphan baby girl, Marigold Latimer, soon to be Marigold Crawley, his newly adopted grandchild, looked very much like Mary had as a baby. His hand clenched around his drink as it all came together. Michael Greggson had disappeared, the icing on the miserable cake that was the worst year of their lives. Then, with Matthew miraculously returned to them and recovering, Edith had gotten it in her head to go to Switzerland and returned months later, seeming even more out of sorts. And now there was a baby that looked like she could easily be his granddaughter by blood.

I’ll have to talk to her, he told himself. The child, Marigold, didn’t deserve the problems that would come from people finding out who she really was, and Edith could be naïve about certain things. At least, he thought as he watched Matthew and Tom tease each other, she didn’t just rush back to Switzerland and pay some local villager to raise the baby in Downton. Her plan smacked of clever planning. Matthew, in other words. He had missed the man’s cleverness in solving problems, he would never deny that, but he was also suddenly reminded of how irritating it was to have someone merrily plotting behind his back.

~*~

“Isn’t it… awkward for Lord Gillingham to visit for an entire weekend?” Mrs. Hughes asked as she sat down at the servants table. “Frankly, I rather got the impression he wasn’t entirely pleased with how things worked out for Lady Mary.”

Carson harrumphed as he took his seat next to her. Bates almost smiled but didn’t. Sometimes it was better to let the older man get it out of his system. He had to admit, he found the prospect of putting up with Tony Gillingham and his rather flirty valet for an entire weekend unappealing, particularly when things had cooled between him and Lady Mary for obvious reasons.

“If you recall, Mrs. Hughes,” Carson said darkly, “various guests were invited previously to see this opera singer. As Downton was the prior host of the event, when she had to cancel at the last minute, it seemed only fair to invite all those who were unable to attend the performance. Lord Gillingham was among those guests and there is no obvious reason to exclude him.”

“Except that he was courting Lady Mary while Mr. Crawley was away,” Thomas added with a smirk.

Carson glared at him. “Don’t be vulgar, Mr. Barrow. It never rose to courting.”

That was an interesting rewrite of history, Bates thought, but he didn’t feel like arguing it. Lady Mary had finally shaken off her depression, when Mr. Matthew had found his way back to Downton. He didn’t judge her for that, Mr. Matthew’s return was a completely unexpected miracle. It was otherwise normal and even expected for a widowed lady to mourn and then move on. There hadn’t been wedding plans begun but Lady Mary and Lord Tony Gillingham had been an item, with Charles Blake waiting in the wings. Mrs. Hughes was right though, it was awkward having the man visit, particularly since he and Lady Mary didn’t seem to be on good terms any longer, and Gillingham hadn’t exactly made fast friends of Mr. Matthew. In fact, while the last Christmas party had blown up for other reasons, it was obvious to those attending that Gillingham had been somewhere between appalled and enraged that he was being thrown over for Matthew. Although how he could expect anything but that, Bates didn’t know. One thing he gave Lady Mary credit for, she hadn’t expressed one regret about the problems that Matthew returning had brought.

He knew, from Anna and his own observations, that she had been worried and frightened when Matthew had first returned, so damaged that he could barely look any of them in the eye, that as joyous as it was to have him there alive, that he might never recover his memory in any meaningful way. But she had never faltered in her commitment to him. She had appointed herself as his protector and in those early weeks spent much of her time seeing to it that no one was unwittingly unkind to Matthew. Bates was certain that if he hadn’t recovered more fully, she would have spent the rest of her life trying to help him recover. In contrast, Tony Gillingham had been brushed aside like a fly, and he suspected that had been quite obvious to the man.

Lady Mary was hardly subtle after all.

Still, it was nice to have a dinner party where it didn’t seem filled with pitfalls. With Mr. Matthew quite recovered, he could hold his own with any jabs Gillingham wanted to make. It was also nice to have the house bustling. The opera singer was a true novelty and as a treat to the staff, everyone in the household was invited to the performance. He rather liked opera, but he wasn’t surprised when about halfway through Anna quietly got up.

“I’ve a headache,” she whispered. “I’m going to get some medicine in the kitchen.”

And avoid the singing, Bates knew, but he smiled and nodded. It was a taste Anna didn’t share and he had no doubt it would take her a bit to find the headache powders. A few minutes later, he saw Mr. Matthew quietly excuse himself to Lady Mary, making a similar headache gesture. More of a surprise, since he liked music more than most of the family, but Bates wondered if the overall evening had set the man off. Gillingham had spent most of the dinner needling him about the trial. It was impossible to put that topic off limits. Bates gave the man a look to see if he was needed, and Mr. Matthew shook his head and gestured for him to stay seated. He wasn’t surprised. Mr. Matthew was much like his father-in-law in being courteous.

~*~

He normally would have braved it out but when the throbbing in his head seemed to ricochet through his body, it was time to take his leave for a bit. The music was lovely, but the high notes were like being stabbed over and over. He just wanted to lie in a dark room and hold some ice to his forehead. There had been ice cream for dinner, which meant there would still be some ice in the kitchen’s icebox. It was easy enough to fetch himself, and if it worked, he could rejoin the party.

It was strange to be downstairs in Downton. He’d rarely been before the accident, it just wasn’t done, and after… It had always been so hideously awkward. Made worse by the fact that if Beesely was right, some of the servants would be asked to testify on his behalf as to how damaged he’d been. Fortunately, most if not all of them were upstairs enjoying the opera so he wasn’t going to make anyone jump unnecessarily.

When he walked into the servants hall, he realized at once that something was very wrong. A man, Gillingham’s valet he thought, was roughly forcing Anna against the wall, while holding his hand over her mouth. She was struggling, wild eyed with terror, and he understood exactly what was happening. He dove at the man. “Get off her, you bastard!”

He punched Greene in the face with his damaged left hand, forgetting in the heat of the moment that it would hurt him just as much as Greene. “Dammit,” he hissed. “Stay away from her!”

Greene shoved him into the wall. “What’s it to you? Damn feeble minded ponce, that’s what you are! I should let you watch, you might figure out what’s what.” Matthew felt a fresh surge of rage. He slammed his head into Greene’s face and started punching the man. He was in a frenzy, not realizing until Anna started shaking him that Greene was already unconscious.

“Mr. Crawley, stop it!” she shouted, her expression frantic, as she grabbed his hands. “Don’t kill him. Right now all you’ve done is stop him from hurting me… If you keep hitting him you’ll kill him. He’s not worth it….” Her pleading got through to him, and he saw that his hands were bloody and hurting because he’d beaten Greene’s face to a pulp. He looked at Anna, realizing suddenly that Greene had left her bruised and more. He took off his jacket quickly and offered it to her. “Your dress, Anna... Put this on and I’ll go… get some help.”

“Don’t go to John,” Anna said worriedly, her eyes stricken. “He’ll run down here and kill him…”

And John Bates didn’t need more legal trouble.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to fandroid at ffn for betaing and making things sound more britishy :) 
> 
> (Britishy probably isn't very correct)


	6. Chapter six

“When I entered the servants’ hall, I found Mr. Greene striking Mrs. Bates, holding his hand over her mouth so she couldn’t call for help.” Matthew winced as Mrs. Hughes handed him a bag of ice for his bandaged hand.

“So you thought something untoward was happening?” the police sergeant asked.

Mary crossed her arms and glared at the policeman. “What kind of idiotic question is that?”

Matthew looked at her crossly. “Mary, stop. You’re not helping.” She found herself nodding. He was agreeing with her, she could see it, but also imploring her to not make it worse. To the police sergeant he said, “Yes, I did. Mrs. Bates is my wife’s lady’s maid and quite happily married to her husband, Mr. Bates. She was struggling in his grasp and if she wanted to be there, why would he cover her mouth?” He gave the policeman a dark look. “I’m not unfamiliar with the idea that servants might have assignations but Mrs. Bates was clearly trying to get away from Mr. Greene.”

“So you pulled him off and then you both were fighting?” The police sergeant looked him over. “I don’t mean to be disrespectful, Mr. Crawley, but Greene is a big fellow and you’re… well, I was told you only had one good hand…” He eyed Matthew worriedly. “You’re not covering for someone? Mr. Bates perhaps? I’ve heard that man has a temper.”

“First,” Matthew said tiredly, “That isn’t true. I can use both of my hands.” Mary got the sense that Matthew was close to losing his temper. “Second,” and he used his bandaged hand to gesture to his black eye, “I clearly didn’t walk away from this unscathed. Third, I believe my own wife, her father the Earl of Grantham and numerous other guests will attest to the fact that Mr. Bates was upstairs enjoying the concert until I managed to ruin yet another evening here by showing up with blood all over my dress shirt.”

“Yes, it has become expensive to keep you decently attired,” Mary added, hoping to keep things from getting too grim. She turned to the police sergeant. “You’ve interrogated Anna like she was at fault and you’re acting as though Matthew did something wrong.”

“He beat Greene bloody. There’s a good chance the man will die. However….” And the sergeant closed his notebook, “I think Mrs. Bates had a close call and was lucky Mr. Crawley came downstairs when he did.” He gave Matthew a significant look. “I understand, looking at how the man obviously got the drop on you, why you might have reacted so harshly. If Greene survives, he’ll be charged with assault against Anna Bates and against you, Mr. Crawley. I made a call to the precinct Lord Gillingham lives in, and apparently this isn’t the first time Mr. Greene was a little too forward with a housemaid.” With that the man left.

 

“I’m beginning to agree with Papa,” Mary said after a moment. “We need to stop having parties.”

Matthew nodded and winced as he shifted the bag of ice on his injured hand. “There are times,” he said tiredly, “that I wished we lived in a cottage in the middle of nowhere and no one knew anything about us. Then I remind myself how awful it was to exist as a person with no past… Sometimes I wish I could find some sort of medium between the two.” He sighed. “Where are the party guests? And Anna?”

“The guests are mostly in bed. Anna and John are spending the night here. Papa insisted.” Her father had given Carson rather pointed instructions that Bates wasn’t to leave the house without an alarm being sounded. She didn’t blame her father for that concern. If they hadn’t hauled Greene out on a stretcher, she was certain Bates would have attacked the man. As it was, her father and Mosely both had to hold him back. She didn’t blame him. She had sat in on the police sergeant questioning Anna and she was certain that Greene would have violated Anna if Matthew hadn’t found them. “If you’re not going to the hospital tonight, then I think it’s time you went to bed.” She would have preferred the hospital but he’d already said no and she knew she’d win in the morning when his mother appeared. Isobel wasn’t one to interfere unless asked, that had been a genuine surprise in her marriage, and she didn’t take advantage of it often, but Matthew would go see the doctor if his mother requested it. In the morning, with the bruises setting in nicely, she doubted she would even need to ask Isobel to take her side.

He nodded agreement and stood up. She took his arm and got a sense of how unsteady he really was, in that instead of pushing her away, he held on tightly as they went up the stairs. It can wait until the morning, she thought, but you will see the doctor tomorrow.

The main floor was quiet, with just Carson and Barrow bustling about, picking up. I will get Matthew to bed, she told herself, and I’ll let Mama and Papa see the guests off tomorrow. As they were walking to the main staircase, she heard the front door open and close. She turned her head, just in time to see Tony Gillingham striding towards them. Oh good lord, she thought tiredly, this is exactly what I don’t need. “Lord Gillingham, it’s a bit late for a midnight walk.”

“I just got back from the hospital,” Tony snapped. He glared at Matthew. “If Greene lives, he’s probably going to lose his right eye. If he regains consciousness. He may not. Apparently his brain is bleeding. Dr. Clarkson drilled a hole in his skull to relieve the pressure but he doesn’t think it will work.”

“Well, let’s all hope Dr. Clarkson’s competency is up to its usual standard,” Matthew said tiredly. “With such a dour prognosis, it’s virtually guaranteed Greene will be fine in the morning.”

Mary couldn’t help it, she began to giggle. Matthew wasn’t witty as a rule, but sometimes his dry remarks just struck her perfectly. It was ghastly, what Tony said, but Matthew had an unpleasant yet hilarious point about Clarkson. She struggled to stop as Tony frowned at her.

“I don’t know what you find so amusing about this,” he hissed. “Your mentally incompetent husband assaulted my valet!”

She could feel Matthew tense as he spoke. “Your bloody valet was trying to violate my wife’s lady’s maid! And he would have if I hadn’t stopped him! Why do you think I hit him? Because he was there? According to the police, this isn’t the first time he’s come under suspicion. Perhaps you should mind your staff a little better, Gillingham. I shouldn’t have to worry that inviting you means your valet will rape whoever he pleases among the household staff! That’s not the sort of house I run, and considering your level of offense, I’m beginning to wonder about yours!”

“Matthew, stop,” Mary said quickly. She realized suddenly why Matthew had beaten Greene to a pulp and why Tony was close to provoking him into violence. If there was something guaranteed to enrage Matthew, it was the idea of a servant being violated by a guest in their home. Anna had warned her, that Matthew had been in a frenzy, that once he had Greene on the floor, she had been hard pressed to get him to stop. No one would care about Greene, he had attacked a woman and then the heir to the earldom of Grantham, but if Matthew attacked Tony, that was much different. Even if Tony was being rude beyond the pale. “Lord Gillingham, you left before Anna, Mrs. Bates, told the police exactly what happened. The police plan to arrest him if he lives through the night. If you don’t believe Anna, then believe me that there’s no possibility that Anna somehow led your man on.” She felt her own temper rise. “For god’s sake, Tony, look at Matthew. Does he look like he simply beat your man as a matter of rank?”

For a wonder, Tony flushed with embarrassment as he looked at Matthew. “I… I didn’t know that.” He struggled obviously for a long moment. He looked at her, not Matthew. “Is Anna all right?”

Tony liked Anna, Mary suddenly remembered. He thought she was a nice woman and worried about her husband, the disreputable John Bates. “She… she wasn’t violated. She’s quite upset and bruised, but she will be all right. Now… Go to bed, Tony. Be glad it wasn’t worse.”

She could see Barrow and Carson watching and waiting. It was good to know that if things turned bad, she had back up. Matthew was angry but not up for another fight. Please Tony, she quietly pleaded, if you ever loved me, back off the point. She could feel Matthew tensing to leap at him.

Tony looked down and away. He looked at her and seemed to deflate, as if finally accepting the reality. “It’s late, I’m tired, and upset, and my temper ran away with me.” He hesitated and then looked at Matthew. “Matthew, I’m sorry. I’ve spoken abominably to you and to be blunt, I’ve not been a gentleman in my thoughts and words about you. I will take Lady Mary’s advice and go to bed, and be glad that Anna wasn’t injured beyond a few bruises.” He held out his hand to Matthew. “Please accept my apology.”

Matthew carefully shook his hand. “Let this be the end of it.”

Something was still wrong, she could tell, but it could wait until they were alone. She got him to their bedroom and considered how hard she wanted to press. “You’re not sleeping away from me, not tonight. I want you next to me.” That was as much for her as it was for him. She could admit, her heart had almost jumped out of her chest when Matthew had staggered into the concert with his hands and shirt bloodied and his jacket gone.

He smiled tiredly. “I doubt you’ll get much sleep then. I still have the headache that drove me out of the concert to begin. I’m exhausted, my head hurts, my face hurts, and my hands hurt, and I feel completely keyed up.” Still, for all his protesting, he was quick to curl up tight against her when she got into bed. He was still tense. That was why she decided to talk to him about it.

“Was it that he was forcing Anna? Is that why you beat him so badly?” she asked after a long moment. She didn’t doubt what Tony said, that Greene would likely die. If the man did die, it would add to the problems surrounding the trial, but she was more concerned about what Anna had whispered to her, that she had been afraid that Matthew had completely lost control of himself. She had seen signs of that herself, when he flared up at Tony.

“Yes… and no…” he said softly. “I was… horrified at what I saw. As ugly and unpleasant as this has been, it’s Anna who made the lucky escape. And you know what Bates would have done.”

She nodded, even though he couldn’t see her. If, heaven forbid, Matthew hadn’t taken it into his head to go to the kitchen for ice, Anna would have been violated and no doubt more brutally beaten than she already was. John Bates was a good man, but a man with the shadow of a murder conviction hanging over him. If Greene died, the circumstances were such that Matthew would face no charges. If Bates had given the man the beating, things would be much different. And if she knew Bates, Greene would already be dead. “Was it like that at Crowborough Place? Is that what made you angry?”

For a wonder, he chuckled and she could feel some of the tension leave him. “No… Not after the first few times. I barely understood what was going on but I was able to figure out that saying no and fighting someone off just meant I’d be beaten even worse, and still have to do whatever they wanted. No… I was angry at what he said…”

“What did he say?” It did make her curious.

Matthew sighed. “He called me a feeble minded ponce and suggested I watch him assault Anna to figure out what to do.” He pulled the covers around their bodies. “The next thing I knew, poor Anna was begging me not to make it worse by killing him. Your ex-boyfriend Tony said something only slightly less offensive, that I’m mentally incompetent. I’ll grant you, they both probably first heard the rumors here, at the Christmas party, but it’s like a precursor of what my life will be like after the trial.” He chuckled again. “Did you realize when you married me that you were marrying a feeble minded ponce?”

“If I wasn’t worried I would injure you further,” she said, entwining her arms in his but taking care to not bother his bandaged hands, “I would suggest you repeat last night’s performance if you’re that worried about being a ponce.” She hesitated. It was early to tell him what she had only confirmed a few days earlier with Dr. Clarkson, and she could admit she had similar concerns to his on Clarkson’s competence. On the other hand, it had been a long terrible night and Matthew needed something to look forward to. “For what it’s worth, in about six months, you’ll have ample proof that if you’re a ponce, you’re quite terrible at it.”

“What do you mean?” he asked, sounding genuinely puzzled.

“In about six months, George will have a little brother or sister.” She waited a moment. “You do understand you’re not allowed to drive and I firmly plan to have you tied to a chair in my hospital room until I’m ready to leave, correct?”

“Seems like a reasonable precaution, considering how awkward things went the last time.”


	7. Chapter seven

“I’m sorry,” Matthew said again. Sitting in Beesely’s office, he felt like a chastised schoolboy. “There really was no way to avoid the fight. I couldn’t let that man violate Anna.”

Beesely gestured to the bruises on his face and hands. “I would have preferred that you simply called for help. Green is still unconscious and likely to die. Granted, if he does manage to survive the beating you gave him, he won’t like the fact that he’s looking at numerous assault charges since several of his prior victims have come forward. Your wife’s maid was lucky. The problem… Do you understand the problem your actions cause, Mr. Crawley?”

Matthew nodded. “Yes. Part of your argument is that I stayed at Crowborough Place because I was frightened and too witless to defend myself against being beaten and mistreated by a group of men that objectively, I could have taken in a one on one fight. Green is bigger than I and yet I won the fight and I even initiated the fight. That makes it difficult to argue that I was unable to simply leave when I was being mistreated.”

“And your succinct summing up of the difficulty makes arguing how witless you were awkward as well.” Beesely stood up and paced around the office. “If I had known you looked like a street thug in a nice suit, I wouldn’t have asked you to come in. As soon as we’re done here, you’re to go back to your pleasant estate and not go out in public until you don’t look like a prize fighter. The jury needs to see you as a pleasant, affable aristocrat who is essentially harmless. You’re damn lucky the trial isn’t until after the London Season. Hopefully by then you won’t look like a street thug.”

“I’m sorry. I know it makes things more difficult but I couldn’t let that… I couldn’t allow that to happen in my own home. I refuse to regret that.” Beesely nodded at that, and Matthew felt some relief. Beesely was worried, that was obvious, but not so worried that he thought the case was lost. “So the trial will be after the London Season? I take it Philip has turned down the plea deal.”

Beesely nodded. He took a seat at his desk. “I can’t say I was surprised by that. He’s convinced that a better offer is coming.”

“Is there?” Matthew thought it was a fair question.

The prosecutor shrugged. “Possibly. It won’t be significantly better. There’s nineteen bodies after all. Is there an inn in Downton Village? That you’d recommend?”

“There’s only the one, but it’s nice enough. Of course, you know you can stay at the Abbey.” He knew what Beesely would say.

“I appreciate the offer, but since I will be conducting interviews of your family members and your house staff, it would be inappropriate.” Beesely said firmly. “I certainly won’t decline the occasional dinner invite and I assume there’s a room I can use for interviews instead of making everyone walk into the village but spending the night or several would look inappropriate.”

“What do you plan to ask my family and the staff about? Only Bates and Barrow knew about the confrontation I planned, among the servants and Robert, Tom and Mary know what I’ve told you.” He was puzzled. Beesely made it sound like he was planning a lengthy stay.

“Mr. Crawley…” Beesely looked him over, kindly but also worried. “I have to establish to the jury that you were so mentally impaired, you genuinely thought you couldn’t simply walk away from Crowborough Place and I currently have only one witness, Charles Blake, who saw you while you were… deeply in the throes of your amnesia stupor. That means I need to have some people willing to get on the stand and describe what you were like when you first returned to your home.” He waited a long moment. “It would be better if I had a few witnesses other than Mr. Blake that saw you in that house.”

Matthew felt every inch of his body clench up. “There’s not one I could name that wouldn’t lead you to asking awkward questions that you’ve already told me not to answer.”

Beesely leaned back in his chair, his expression intent. “Let’s speak in hypotheticals, then. Let’s pretend you remember more than you’re telling me. Let’s say you could probably tell me the names of dozens of men who were guests at Crowbprough Place. Let’s even hypothetically assume that every single one forced you to commit an illegal sexual act. I believe you when you say you were so mentally addled by your injuries that you couldn’t distinguish right from wrong. You know why I believe that? Because I know you were in a terrible car accident and no one in their right mind would have spent an entire year being brutalized and mistreated by choice. If, hypothetically speaking, you named any of these men and it was revealed you were forced by them to commit a sexual act, you would not be in any trouble. I know it would be humiliating to have it revealed but your family does support you.”

Matthew looked down at his hands. It has to be said, he reminded himself. If Beesely did find someone who was a guest at the house, it would come out if only because whoever it was would try to protect themselves. “Hypothetically…” he said softly, forcing the word out, “what if I wasn’t forced?”

He could feel Beesely’s eyes boring into him. Finally the man spoke. “Hypothetically I need to know exactly what that means. Because I know you don’t mean that you willingly participated in this.”

“I thought… “He gripped the arms of the chair to keep from shaking. “Everything I did was wrong, and every time I was wrong, I was hit. If I said no to anything, I was beaten. There was always someone at me, telling me to do something and hitting me if I didn’t jump. I thought I was going to die, and they said if I didn’t learn to do what I was told, I’d be sent someplace worse. I was barely able to think, I was injured from the car accident, although I didn’t remember the car accident… I limped for months, and my hand and fingers still don’t work right. I couldn’t fight, I could barely walk some days and they told me how useless and worthless I was. And… I did fight back at the start, but I could never win… there was always at least two of them and sometimes it was all of the servants. Philip or Hightower would tell me what they wanted and if I balked at anything, they would beat me senseless and then force me to do whatever it was. I wasn’t allowed to eat if I was too stupid to follow orders… I wasn’t allowed to sleep for more than a few minutes. After a few days… maybe two weeks… I thought… I thought I was going to die. I was in so much pain, I was so tired and hungry... Philip told me to take off my clothes and… do something… and I just did it. I didn’t see the point in fighting it and losing and having to do it anyway.”

“So you did it,” Beesely said gently. “And things got easier?”

“Yes,” he said. He felt almost breathless. “I got to sleep, no one hit me, I got to sit at the servants table and eat breakfast. I realized if I just did what I was told, everything would hurt less. Once that stuck in my thoughts… I did what I was told because anything else just hurt too much.”

“And the guests, they never saw this, did they?” Beesely asked.

Matthew shook his head. “I was hit in front of guests but it was never with the same intensity, and it was over things like being stupid or dropping things or fetching the wrong drink. If I was told to do something with a guest… I did it without a question.” He struggled to find the right words. “Murdoch, Hightower, Philip, all the servants… they knew, they were complicit. But the guests… I wasn’t the only footman who spent time with guests. They… liked spending time with guests. The people who were guests… just thought I was one of the footmen. I never said no to any of them. I won’t lie and tell you that any of them seemed terribly concerned about what my life was like… Charles Blake is the only one that ever even asked me a question and I was too afraid of disobeying to not answer him… But I can’t look you in the eye and tell you I protested anything a guest asked for.”

Beesely was silent for a long moment. “So far, I haven’t heard anything that doesn’t make you the victim. If… this was really part of the case and not the two of us engaging in a law school hypothetical,” and Matthew could hear the rage in Beesely’s voice, “I would be incensed, outraged that I offered Philip of Crowborough a plea deal. I do understand your dilemma though. I generally try to resolve the occasional deviancy case that comes across my desk with a mind toward not ruining entire families. A fool being indiscreet is salvageable. In this unpleasant hypothetical scenario, the offenders mostly had no idea they were participating in a savage months long torture. They likely thought they were having a bit of fun away from prying eyes.” Beesely sighed heavily. “I take back something I said to you previously. It’s probably best you went into corporate law. You’re far too forgiving to have lasted as a criminal prosecutor. Now, we’re both going to have a glass of whiskey to collect ourselves. The scenario you presented me with will be something I will consider carefully.” Beesely poured him a glass and sipped his own. “Mr. Crawley, you have my word that I will do everything within my power to avoid airing this… law school hypothetical, in public. Also be assured I will do everything within my power to see to it that the Duke of Crowborough swings by the neck.”

The problem, Matthew thought tiredly, was that the second promise pretty much guaranteed the first promise would be broken.

~*~

“I trust this room suits your needs for interviews, Mr. Beesely,” Mary said as she took a seat near the small desk that Beesely had appropriated. “If you need anything at all, just ring the bell. I’ve also let the servants know that you will wish to talk to some of them.”

“The room is quite pleasant, Lady Mary.” Beesely said as he stood for her. “Exactly what I needed. I trust you don’t mind being my first interview or that for privacy purposes, I will be closing the door.”

“Not at all,” she said easily as she watched him do exactly that. “I’m a married woman. I also somehow doubt the prosecutor for the trial my husband is testifying at plans to be inappropriate with his wife.” Although if she wasn’t married, she could admit to being tempted on looks alone. Beesely was a man in his fifties but he was a good looking man, with silver hair and refined manners.

Beesely smiled as he resumed his place behind the desk. “My own wife quite agrees with your assessment. I will likely need to speak with you several times during my stay.”

“I am willing to do anything that is necessary to assist Matthew,” Mary said.

“I’m glad to hear that, Lady Mary,” Beesely said carefully. It pleased her, how careful he was. She could see he was a bright man, not that she didn’t trust Matthew opinion, but it was good to see for herself. He was clearly assessing her, and she rather liked it. Finally he smiled at her. “I’m told you’re the reason Philip of Crowborough sports that charming four inch scar on his face.”

“I have no regrets,” Mary said easily enough, “Except that I still think that we would all would have been better off if I had indulged my initial instinct to ‘accidently’ shoot him in the face during our last hunt.”

“Perhaps,” Beesely said. He touched one of the notepads. “I must advise you that I have some difficult subjects to discuss with you.”

“Nothing that could be more difficult than burying my husband.” She said it firmly. “Everything that has come since pales in comparison”

“You mean that, don’t you? Interesting.” Beesely continued speaking, cutting her off before she could respond. “I confess that based on my interactions with your husband, I wondered if perhaps he was seeing you in the faintly charmed light that he sees most people, Frankly, I worried that he has been exaggerating your acceptance of some of the more unpleasant events of this crime.” He held up his hand to stave off her protests. “Please understand, Lady Mary, my work makes me doubt even the word of a vicar.”

“Then let me make a point of clarifying,” Mary said. “I know that you’re concerned that Philip’s lawyer will ask Matthew a question about what happened to him the night he was almost murdered. I know you don’t want to know the answer to that question. I also know that Matthew plans to answer that question honestly. I know what the answer is, and the only concern I have is that people will treat Matthew cruelly because they won’t understand that he couldn’t have prevented it.”

“You believe that?” Beesely asked. His question almost made her smile. She suddenly understood why Matthew trusted the man. Beesely wasn’t challenging her, he was making sure they were both in agreement.

It made answering easier. “Matthew is a decorated veteran and a natural gentleman, but because he has a gentle nature, on the rare occasion where he is roused to fisticuffs, I’m generally surprised when he wins. My husband was barely recovered from serious injuries from the car accident. A day didn’t go by in that house of horrors where he wasn’t beaten or struck for something. He was brutally whipped and I assure you those scars haven’t faded. There were six men and I think if he’d been perfectly healthy, he might have held off two. Six men? I don’t know any men in my life that I think are capable of winning a fight against six.”

“What if it wasn’t always six against one?” Beesely asked gently.

She smiled coldly. “You mean, what if my husband, who was so injured he couldn’t remember his name, or count to ten correctly, was taken into an estate where the master of the house and his cruel servants told him to do exactly as he was told? And was beaten and threatened when he didn’t, and was manipulated into acts that he normally wouldn’t do? Yes that has occurred to me. Would you like to know what I thought after Matthew returned to us? After our first conversation? Where he was so terrified of me and my father, he could barely look at either of us? And offered to divorce me because he was so awful a husband?” Her voice caught. “I don’t admit this easily… He was so badly damaged, I worried he was irrevocably broken. His spirit had been crushed and I knew that something far worse than being alone and without an identity had crushed him. During those early weeks, when his memories were few and far between, he was like a cowed, timid stranger who worried his every word and gesture was going to bring down our wrath.”

She took a deep breath. “He was a broken man, Mr. Beesely. Had things been different, if he had turned right and walked into the hospital ward instead of turning left and going out the morgue to the train tracks, I realize now that he would have been months recovering. He’s told me as much, that he couldn’t think beyond the next few minutes, he couldn’t remember things he was told. It took time. He called it the floodgates opening, that he could remember barely being able to count one day, and the next it was like his mind had opened up. I don’t pretend to know anything about medicine but it was as if his intellect had to heal before his memory could return.”

“How quickly did he recover his memory, once he was here?” Beesely asked.

She shook her head. “It wasn’t quick. Little things would come to him, but he didn’t have a real awakening until almost two months later.” She felt a blush rise to her cheeks. “After that floodgate opened, he was mostly well. There were gaps, he was still nervous… I think he recalled what happened to him but couldn’t put names or locations to any of it. And then the Christmas party. That’s where it all returned to him. For a lengthy period of time, especially early on, he was not himself.”

“So everyone in the household should have a story to tell of Mr. Crawley seeming impaired. Good. We’ll need as many witnesses as possible.” Beesely sounded pleased. He handed her a pad of paper. “Lady Mary, I’m going to speak plainly to you. I agree with you, that if your husband is asked a certain ugly question, he will feel compelled to answer honestly. I also agree that he was a victim in this. Frankly, as long as the situation is six against one, I think Mr. Crawley would easily win the war of public opinion. It helps that he’s a far more sympathetic figure than Philip. If this is all that is presented, Philip will merely embarrass himself and put himself at risk. Your husband will be embarrassed but with rare exception it will be hand waved away because your husband will be Earl of Grantham and as you say, he was physical injured and it was six against one.”

“I sense a problem coming,” Mary said after a long moment of thought. “I confess, I’m not quite sure what it is…” She had some ideas but she was curious what he thought.

Beesely sighed. “I have exactly one person who can put your husband in that house acting half-witted. Philip has five codefendants who have every reason to lie. Worse, Mr. Crawley seems quite recovered. It will be hard for the jury to see him as a slow, cringing servant. There will be another plea offer and I suspect Philip will see it as a sign of weakness, instead of a last ditch attempt to get him to see reason. Then he’ll get in the stand and declare that Mr. Crawley took the unpleasant car accident as a way to escape his responsibilities to you and your family. He’ll say Matthew was a willing participant in the house deviancy, and his codefendants will be happy to agree.”

“That’s… ridiculous.” But as she thought about it, she could see exactly how it would ruin Matthew. “Philip would still hang.”

“Of course he’ll still hang. There’s too many bodies. The man is a fool to think he can escape justice for the murders. He isn’t going to accept it until the trial starts and he sees the jury glare at him. Once he realizes he’s lost his chance to live… This would all be to destroy your husband… and it would, you do understand that?” Beesely waited.

Mary considered it carefully. “It’s six against one. Even though they’re all accused murderers, Matthew would be publically smeared and accused of being a homosexual.”

“It wouldn’t stick legally,” Beesely said in agreement, “But it wouldn’t need to, in order to ruin him.”

She looked at Beesely intently. “So how do we combat this? I assume you’re sharing this with me for a reason other than to upset me.” She certainly hoped that was the case.

Beesely leaned back in his chair. “I need witnesses who saw him in that house when he was so mentally incapable, he couldn’t be held accountable. What I could really use is one of the co-defendants to turn on Philip, but I think that’s unlikely. It will help to parade you and your family and servants to testify how badly off he was when he returned, but frankly it’s more important to have witnesses seeing him in Crowborough Place mentally flailing. My suspicion is that Mr. Crawley's own feelings of guilt and shame make it difficult for him to name who was there.”

It was more complex than that, Mary thought, but she had the impression Beesely was making a clear effort to dance around why Matthew might feel ashamed. “Matthew isn’t interested in ruining the lives of… People who may not have realized he wasn’t a willing participant. The Duke and his servants were quite brutal about instant obedience.” Several ideas swirled in her head. “How much would you ask of these guests?

She doubted any of the peers were going to be willing to admit that they merrily participated in what Thomas Barrow and Charles Blake called a homosexual bacchanalian fantasy.

Beesely smiled thinly. “I just want them to describe your husband as a cringing terrified mess who could barely follow orders. I certainly don’t plan to ask anyone what deviant activities they were participating in, and while I am sure Crowborough’s lawyer will ask… I don’t know many men who would admit to committing a crime while testifying.” He gave her a knowing look. “I certainly don’t plan to follow up on any outrageous accusations, but I do need a few men, at least seven but its better if there’s more, willing to take the risk of admitting to seeing your husband in that house.”

“How much do you care if they commit perjury?” She had an idea but she would have to be able to assure certain people that they weren’t ruining their lives. “Hypothetically, I mean. I’m sure in real life applications, you care a great deal if witnesses lie on the stand.”

“All I know, Lady Mary, is that it certainly works in our favor if Philip admits to violently sodomizing your husband with his servants and numerous witnesses can cite seeing your husband working as a barely aware cowed servant who didn’t even know his name.” Beesely handed her a pen to go with the pad. “Do you have any names for me? Of men who you no longer welcome into your home for reasons your husband doesn’t care to discuss?”

“Quite a few.” But there would have to be some work done. Every single man she named needed to understand that they owed Matthew everything they held dear in allowing them to deny what they had done.

 


	8. Chapter 8

“So we need to make a decision about the children,” her father said as the two nannies brought the children into the sitting room. Mary almost didn’t know why they maintained the farce of having the children presented before tea. Matthew had gotten in the habit of carrying George around from room to room in a bassinet and even outdoors. He liked having George with him throughout his day and complained on the days he had to be away all day. Edith barely let the nanny do anything with Marigold and Tom had already started picking up Matthew’s habits. Even as she watched, Matthew and Tom were already on the floor, attempting to entice Sybbie and George into playing yet another round of ‘Giant Dollies Attack Noah’s Ark’. She suspected George and Sybbie were more indulging their proud papas than actually enjoying the arguing over who’s dolly stepped on who’s elephants and giraffes or whether or not the elaborate scoring system was fair to both sides.

Edith jiggled little Marigold. “You make it sound so ominous, Papa. Like we’re deciding which one we keep.”

“That’s not entirely inaccurate,” Robert said, smiling with pleasure at the little ones playing. “We do need to decide whether the children are coming to London with us for the Season.”

Oh why not just suggest we throw the children into a pit of fire, Mary thought darkly. It would go over just as well.

“Of course they’re coming with us,” Matthew said. He picked George up and sat down on the couch, holding his son as though the child had been threatened. They were, she thought suddenly, almost breathtakingly alike. Little George had the same worried look as his father. One thing we are doing while in London, she decided suddenly, is getting photographs of Matthew and George together. That George was coming with them to London wasn’t negotiable, that she already knew. Matthew hugged the boy. “I can’t leave this dear little chap alone for that long.”

“I can’t leave Marigold here,” Edith said, actually clutching the baby girl to her chest. “We’re still bonding.”

“Sybbie is starting to talk,” Tom said. He also picked up his child. “We’ll be in London for at least a month, that’s a long time for them to be here alone with the nannies.”

“It’s not an unusually long time,” Robert insisted, “and the problem is that Grantham House is just so big. Rose obviously will need her own room, myself and Cora, Mary and Matthew… We have the Levinsons joining us and they’ll each need their own rooms. Tom, you and Edith will each need your own room, and the children and their nannies will need rooms… and that’s several more rooms than we have.”

She also suspected her father just wanted to avoid cramming all the servants into close quarters, but it was a real problem. Since she needed Matthew distracted as she had her own business to attend to in London, it was important that he had George to play with. “I have a solution. Granny and Cousin Isobel are staying with Aunt Rosamund and she has extra room. Why don’t we ask her to take Tom and Sybbie, and Edith and Marigold for the season? That gives everyone a little bit of breathing room,” because being crammed into Grantham House with Edith meant fights, no matter how old they were, “and then everyone can bring their children.”

“There still won’t be enough room,” her father said. “If you and Matthew are at Grantham house, you’ll need a room, so will George, and so will the nanny.”

“The nanny can share with the other servants, and George… can sleep in a crib in the room with Matthew and I.” Matthew beamed his delight and hugged George even more. She gritted her teeth. Matthew liked having George in their bedroom, while she preferred being able to sleep. It made Matthew happy though and it was only for the season.

“Well, that’s perfect,” Edith said, “but we should telephone Aunt Rosamund and make sure before we do anything else.” All three of them got up and scurried off to the library, taking the children with them.

Her father was silent for a long moment. Finally he said,” Mary, when I said we would need to leave the children at home, did I actually say we had no choice and would need to feed the children to a pack of ravenous wolves? Because I am fairly certain I suggested we leave the children in a comfortably appointed estate home with an army of servants and they’re all acting like I just suggested we leave the children in the woods to die.”

“It was more your tone, Papa,” she said.

“Really, there’s nothing wrong with leaving the children at home,” Robert said.

“Papa, Matthew is filled with guilt over missing the first year of George’s life.” Even in the early days of his recovery, Matthew had been overwhelmed by George and George had bonded with him almost immediately. It was one of the few things in that early time that had convinced that no matter how much or how little Matthew recovered, he was at least still an affectionate and loving father. “He isn’t ready for a month or so away from George. And Tom misses Sybil and is attached to little Sybbie. And Edith… I don’t know what that’s about but Marigold keeps her out of our hair.” She sniffed. “At least that little girl is going to be pretty. More importantly, Papa, Matthew needs the distraction. If you hadn’t noticed, he’s worried about the trial.”

“Of course he’s worried about the trial. Frankly, I’m worried about the trial.” Robert said it with some anger, which surprised her. It also pleased her, in an odd way. It meant he was likely to help her. He gestured around the room. “I’m not worried that Philip will somehow escape the hangman’s noose. The closer this gets to trial, the louder the demands get on that point.” He sighed, and looked down at his feet. “I’m worried, based on the questions Mr. Beesely thinks it will be necessary for me to testify to, that this trial will be a series of humiliations for Matthew. Frankly, I’m also worried that Philip will reveal the truth just because it is the last trump card he can play.”

She was going to make it worse but he had to know, and she doubted that Beesely would have been as open about it. “Mr. Beesely believes Philip will make the accusation and insist that Matthew was a willing participant in what he refers to as the household deviancy. Because he has his servants in his thrall, all six of them will insist it’s true. You’re right, even Matthew thinks Philip will make the accusation in a final attempt to destroy Matthew’s life along with his own and the problem is that it will work.”

Robert shook his head. “That’s nonsense, Mary. I won’t lie and say that it would be easy for Matthew if the… unpleasantness is revealed, but most reasonable people will see it exactly the way I do. He was outnumbered. As God is my witness, as much as I like to think I’d hold off six men attempting to savage me, the reality is that I would fail as Matthew did, as most men would if they force themselves to consider the possibility. It was six against one, and the one was badly injured.”

“Six against one works both ways, Papa,” Mary said softly. “Philip and his servants will all swear on the stand that Matthew is a homosexual who was hiding from his wife. Six of them swearing to it is a problem, especially since Matthew… has no one to testify what he was like in that house. Except Charles, and Matthew has qualms about Charles being revealed.”

“But… we know plenty of people who saw Matthew in that house, who did far worse than simply not abusing Matthew,” Robert said, his tone harsh. Then the problem seemed to dawn on him. “That just makes it worse. Or rather, no one in their right mind would admit why they were there and what they were doing.”

“We have a plan, Papa,” Mary said after a moment. “A plan that Matthew’s sense of honor would object to. He can be quite stubborn about such things, I’m sure you’ve noticed. And I need your help.”

Her father sighed heavily. “I do have a sense of honor as well, Mary. Is this plan something I’d object to?”

“Not at all. Matthew would only object because he’s a lawyer and feels that along not committing perjury himself, he can’t encourage someone else to lie for him. Whereas I have no objection to encouraging someone to lie about what went on in that house.” She wasn’t certain it would work, except for two things. Charles’s honest guilt over it was striking, and she knew if just in passing most of the men that Matthew had put on the list of people no longer welcome to dine or stay at Downton. They were likely to feel the same guilt. Most of them were family men, decent, relatively good men, who had no idea they were violating someone. None of them wanted their lives ruined over a moment in time that Charles insisted most of them regretted. Even Matthew had made it clear that when he had confronted Lord Eddington, the man had been apologetic and desperate to not be revealed. If enough of them felt guilty like Charles, and were assured that they wouldn’t be forced to admit any deviancy, she thought a few would be happy to testify that they had seen Matthew in the house, serving Philip and acting barely capable. That was the first thing. The second consideration was that she rather suspected some of them didn’t like being tricked into participating in something awful. Particularly if they knew Matthew wasn’t the one hell bent on revealing their secrets.

Robert considered that. “I’m unclear how that would help.”

“Seven to ten well born men noting they saw a simple minded man being cuffed and mistreated by the master of the house establishes that Matthew wasn’t a willing participant, that he was too damaged by the accident to understand what was happening. That makes Philip the liar and makes it six against one.” Mary explained. “That moves it back into something that Matthew would be forgiven for.” Which angered her to no end that it was even an issue. “So part of what I will be doing in London is recruiting witnesses. Matthew can’t know, it would trouble his conscience too much. That is why Matthew will need a distraction, and you know he’ll happily spend all day with George if we let him.”

He looked at her in a way that surprised her, because it was like he was seeing her in an entirely different light. “Did… did your mother teach you to be this… manipulative and sneaky? I’m beginning to worry just what goes on here behind my back.”

“Oh Papa, it was your mother who taught me that, not Mama,” she reassured. In fact, her mother was far more subtle than Violet when it came to manipulating her father. Cora just rarely used her skill.

“Do you think you can accomplish this?” Robert asked.

“It’s just the first part of the plan. I’ll need to borrow Barrow for some chores, as well.” And Bates, but if there was one good thing about Matthew beating Tony’s valet into a coma that he still hadn’t awakened from, it was that John Bates was firmly in Matthew’s corner.

Robert nodded but said nothing more as it was clear that the trio laden with children was walking back from the library. Judging by the smiles on all their faces, they thought they had bludgeoned Aunt Rosamund into letting them take over her house. She had called Rosamund the day before because she knew space would be an issue with so many people going.

“Aunt Rosamund said she’d be delighted to have us,” Edith said, beaming with pleasure. “She said she’d be happy to have some young faces in the house. So that is settled then.” She gestured to the toys on the floor. “And maybe Marigold will be big enough to join the game soon.”

“A third player will dramatically alter the rules,” Matthew mused as he set George down next to the Noah’s ark toy. “There would need to be negotiations, and codified rules of conduct for all parties… And more toys.”

“Definitely more toys,” Tom agreed, his eyes twinkling as he handed Sybbie her favorite doll.

“And new scenarios,” Edith added. “I mean, what if we had a doll house? And they could have house parties?”

That led to an entirely new round of elaborate game talk. Mary smiled and let herself continue to plan. Matthew was clearly the better parent. That was another reason she had to succeed. Her children needed a father that wasn’t thoroughly and unfairly vilified by the public.

 

 


	9. Chapter Nine

He hated prison. It was dark and dank, and smelled of urine and lost hope, and one of the happiest days of his life was the day he left prison and returned to his wife. Despite the novelty of entering of his own free will, he couldn’t shake the fact that it made him nervous. He struggled to keep it off his face. He was with Thomas Barrow, and while they were unlikely allies in their current task, the last thing he wanted to do was give Thomas more fuel for the flames.

“Just like old times, eh Bates?” Thomas said, smirking at him as they were led to the visiting area. “Is it different knowing you get to leave at the end?”

He decided to not rise to the bait. “Yes, it’s a great deal different.” Thomas was not company he wanted to keep but he quite understood why Lady Mary had asked both of them to do this particular favor. He also understood why Thomas wasn’t chosen to do it alone. He wondered if Thomas even realized that he was there, in part, to act as a chaperone so that no accusation could be made. It didn’t shock him that Lady Mary had taken Thomas into her confidence, the truth was that the two of them had a very similar nature when it came to being sneaky underhanded liars, but it did surprise him that she was subtle enough to be concerned that Thomas going by himself could have a backlash.

That was Matthew Crawley rubbing off on her, of that he had no doubt. He had agreed to help because he owed Matthew a debt. Anna didn’t like to talk about what had happened in the kitchen that night, but the bruises all over her body and the ripped dress told him exactly how lucky he was that Matthew had put a stop to it. Even without that factor, he still would have helped. Lord Grantham and Matthew had done everything they could to get him out of prison, and at the very least, he didn’t believe Matthew deserved the agony that the Duke of Crowborough’s accusations could bring. The poor man had suffered enough.

The guard set them down in the visiting room, a bare table in a dark room with stone walls. “They’re fetching him up for you… gentleman,” the guard muttered. “Wait here.” He walked off, leaving them alone.

“I could have done this myself,” Thomas muttered.

“That’s true,” Bates agreed, settling himself into one of the chairs. “You didn’t see that Lady Mary asked me to assist to cover for you?” He was partly simply curious if Thomas had realized the potential danger. It wasn’t so long ago that it had been Thomas facing arrest after all. “She didn’t want you in any trouble over helping her.”

After a moment Thomas’s eyes widened. He nodded. “That doesn’t sound like Lady Mary. That sounds more like Mr. Crawley.” He gave Bates a knowing look. “He’s not a fool, you know. A bit of a martyr, but not a fool. He makes sure to not be alone in a room with me so that I won’t face any accusations. Lady Mary doesn’t usually have such concerns.” He shrugged. “Who knew she’d be the one to change?”

“She’s seen the other side,” Bates said quietly. At the younger man’s questioning look, he added, “she’s seen what her life is like without him. This,” and he gestured around the dark stone room, “is merely to make things easier.”

Thomas nodded. “Yes, we’ve discussed it. She’ll still be titled and rich. Mr. Crawley will still be Earl of Grantham and if they’re social pariahs, it’s not as though Mr. Crawley even cares at this point. I think he’d be happy if he never attended a party again.” He gave Bates a long look. “This may not work.”

“I think it will,” Bates said. He smiled slightly as the guard pulled a shackled Jacob Hightower into the room and shoved the man into a chair.

“See, I told you there were visitors for you,” the guard hissed. “Though why anyone wants to visit murderous trash like you, I don’t know.”

Hightower gave the man a harsh look and dismissed him with his eyes. Bates looked him over. He was a bit worse for wear but seemed to be holding his own. He looked at the two of them and frowned. “We’re not friends,” he said to Thomas, and then looked at Bates, “and I don’t know you beyond your name and neither of you have any reason to wish me well, so why are you here? To gloat?”

Thomas smiled, that nasty smirk Bates disliked so much. “I used to regret how things ended with Philip and I… And then I see how it could have ended up.”

“So you are here to gloat,” Hightower said it tiredly. “Go ahead. And when you see us walk out of this prison because there’s no evidence, I’ll be sure to tip my hat at you.”

“You’re not walking out of here,” Thomas said. “Don’t you understand? Philip is going to sacrifice you. He’s a bloody peer. The very last thing a good tenth of the peerage wants is for Philip to start naming names. You’re just a servant and he will throw you to the wolves and pin it all on you.”

“And Mr. Crawley’s memories bear out that story,” Bates added. “That you were cruel and beat him constantly and Philip sometimes even had to tell you to stop. And that the only reason Mr. Crawley wasn’t murdered by you is because Philip stopped you. Philip will paint you as the monster in this, that you were really the one who was in charge of the fox hunt.” The problem, of course, was that Bates was fairly certain it was Hightower who had the tendency towards violence. It irritated him, the notion that if the plan worked, that Hightower wouldn’t hang.

“First,” Hightower said carefully, “I’m in no way conceding any sort of untoward or criminal action took place. Second, Philip would never agree to such a tale because Philip has never been able to admit that he’s not in complete control. Third, Philip would never betray me because I know too much.”

Thomas smirked. “Oh you stupid bastard. I feel sorry for you. Do you know he’s already turned down a plea deal? Where all of you servants would only get twenty years? And there’d be no mention of what happened between you whipping Matthew Crawley bloody and Philip leaving him beaten senseless? Jacob. I don’t like you and I don’t like what you enjoy and I especially despise that you participated in raping and torturing a genuinely good man… So please do understand that Philip’s need to be in control is going to lead you to the hangman’s noose. I’m not here because I like you, I’m here because saving you saves Mr. Crawley.” Thomas took a breath. “I was in the war with Mr. Crawley. He didn’t deserve what you did.”

Hightower rolled his eyes. “God, you’re just like Philip. Taken in by a pretty face.”

It clicked in Bates’s mind, the way in. Forget that they’re both men, he told himself. They were a couple, a couple where Philip ultimately always got what he wanted because he was wellborn and could throw away a fussy lover. Hightower put up with a lot in order to stay with the man. He put up with what was essentially his husband taking a new lover in the form of a better looking version of himself. “And you’re being a fool, again. I say again, because you knew Philip was being a fool in letting Matthew Crawley live at the end of that hunt, but you couldn’t say no, could you? Philip was taken in by a pretty face, and you’re the one who gets to pay for it. You wouldn’t be here. Do you know why we’re here?”

“To somehow save your beloved Mr. Crawley,” Hightower said. “Although it seems to me the damage is done.”

“Do you want to die, Jacob?” Thomas asked. “Philip is going to throw you to the court as the sacrifice to save his own life. He’s going to reveal that you’re a homosexual, that you were the mastermind in this, and he was just following your lead. The jury wants to have a reason to not hang a duke. He plans to testify that you and Mr. Crawley were lovers and he was your victim.”

Bates picked up the narrative. “The jury won’t buy it completely, there’s too many people willing to testify that Mr. Crawley wasn’t mentally competent, but the accusation will be public and he’ll be ruined. You and the other servants will be pegged as the aggressors, and you’ll hang. And the Duke? Will be given a short sentence. He’ll be out in five years and he’ll be ruined but he’ll be alive and you’ll be dead.” That wasn’t exactly what Lady Mary thought would happen, but Hightower didn’t need to know that. Lady Mary had explained that Beesely felt that once the trial began, Philip’s goose was cooked. Getting Hightower to accept a plea deal and become a witness for the prosecution was all about protecting Matthew. There needed to be someone from the house to say Matthew wasn’t a willing participant. The second part of Lady Mary’s plan could work if they failed, but he had his doubts about how successful she would be.

Whereas he could already see Hightower thinking very carefully indeed about his options.

Thomas could see it as well and went in for the kill. “Philip threw me aside because he could. He didn’t listen to you, and now you’re looking at the gallows, and he will let you hang if it means he saves himself.”

Hightower crossed his arms, obviously thinking hard. “Accusing Crawley would appeal to him…” He looked at Bates. “He’s quite jealous of Crawley. Even before… before Mr. Crawley’s accident... Philip was quite incensed that Lord Grantham was going to simply hand the earldom to a commoner when he all but offered to marry the daughter and help them fight the entail. Lord Grantham humiliated him and set Crawley up as his heir. Then the accident and Crawley turning up on his doorstep… I told him it was foolish… He didn’t listen, he had to have his fun...” He laughed suddenly. “And Crawley is a dolt but he’s an honorable dolt. He’s willing to go down as a homosexual if it means Philip is convicted, isn’t he? Because his honor demands he avenges the others and stops it from happening again… even if he ruins himself. And if he ruins himself, he’ll still be alive…”

“And still, rich, married, and titled,” Thomas added, a cold smirk on his face.

“The lawyer never told me about a plea deal. This is all Philip’s fault and ” Hightower’s expression hardened. “And you two aren’t lawyers so what exactly are you offering?”

“Ask to speak to the prosecutor, John Beesely,” Bates said. “He’s willing to give you the plea deal already offered. 20 years with parole possible after 10. If the Duke accuses Mr. Crawley of being a willing participant, you will testify that he wasn’t.”

Hightower considered it. “What if his grace doesn’t make the accusation?”

“Then you get a gift,” Bates said simply. “Because you *deserve* the gallows.” That was the part he was uncomfortable with. There were nineteen dead men and he was certain the bastard sitting in front of him hadn’t just been following Philip’s lead. The deal meant there was a possibility that Jacob Hightower could one day be free.

That’s a problem for later, he told himself as Hightower nodded agreement.

~*~

“Lady Mary Crawley, your lordship,” the butler said. Mary tried to smile pleasantly at the older man who rose from his seat to greet her. It was becoming clear to her that her name was going to frighten off most of the men she wanted to meet with, so she was pleased to have the audience with the Earl of Trelawney.

“Thank you, Thomson. You may leave us.” Trelawney said it firmly but pleasantly. Then he carefully closed the door to the small study. He was, she realized, quite good looking for a man in his fifties. Not one of her father’s friends, his home was to the south of London. That he maintained a house in London near Rosamund’s made him convenient, one of the first she had called on since arriving in London. He eyed her carefully. “Lady Crawley, I assume you’re here to make some sort of accusation on behalf of your husband. Please feel free. I’ve never met your husband.”

“On the contrary. I’m here to ask you to testify at the trial of the Duke of Crowborough, on behalf of my husband.” She waited a long moment.

“An odd request, considering I’ve never met your husband.” He took a seat behind the desk. “What exactly would I be testifying about?”

“That you saw my husband working in the Duke’s home. That you had never met Matthew Crawley before, and you had no reason to think the obviously befuddled footman named John Fox was anyone but the indigent lost soul that the Duke had taken pity on and brought into his home to work for him. That you saw the Duke and his servants mistreat and abuse that footman. You thought it was inappropriate, but didn’t feel comfortable correcting a higher ranked peer in their own home over their striking a servant, even a dimwit like the footman who could barely remember his chores.”

Trelawney carefully pondered her words. “And if I am asked if I bedded that dimwitted footman as par for the course, just a matter of routine at Crowborough House?”

Mary smiled coldly. “I assume you would tell the truth, that you did no such thing and are disgusted to even be asked such a question.”

It took even longer for him to respond. “I confess, Lady Crawley, I’m not a lawyer but that… that is not what I expected you to ask of me. I would ask why more isn’t expected?”

“Before I answer that, your lordship,” Mary said, her tone careful, “I would ask your views on how the Duke of Crowborugh likes to manage his fox hunting?” It was almost amusing to see the man wince in horror.

“I’ll answer that,” he said. “I don’t like what I’ve heard. Much the way I don’t like discovering I’ve been lied to about how willing someone is to… perform for me. There are certain things, certain lines, that I don’t like crossing, even unintentionally. No one with a shred of decency approves of what the Duke was doing on his… fox hunts.”

This is what Charles meant, she realized, that some people didn’t know and didn’t consider themselves bad people for participating. “My husband understands that a typical guest to Crowborough House wouldn’t have known that he’d been damaged in an accident to where he could barely think and beaten by the servants of the house into submission. You know, they starved him, and wouldn’t let him sleep and hit him until he did what he was told with willing compliance. He told me if any guest complained in the slightest, he was beaten afterward. Not in the face of course, the Duke liked him to ‘look pretty’, as he called it. He’s a far more open handed and fair person than I am, your lordship. Despite the abuse, he sees the average guest as somewhat blameless since he never had the wit to protest. He has no wish to ruin someone else’s life over an error in judgement.”

Trelawney considered that. “If that’s true, then I am not sure why we’re talking at all.”

“I have no wish to see my husband’s life ruined over a lie. The lie that the Duke of Crowborough will tell is that my husband was a willing participant in certain unpleasant activities. Unfortunately for him, most of the people who saw him in that house barely capable are afraid to come forward because they fear he will accuse them of something worse. He won’t. He understands, more than you might realize, that such accusations just make things worse for everyone.” She hesitated. “He doesn’t even know I’m here. He plans to let the Duke make his petty accusation and ruin his life because he thinks it will be worth it to put an end to the Duke hurting others. If you’re bothered at all by what you may have unwittingly done, at least consider my request.”

“It’s not as simple as you might think,” Trelawney said. “Anyone who admits to being there will fall under suspicion.”

“Under suspicion of what? That you didn’t step in when someone mistreated their servant?” She laughed. “Even I can admit to having done that. That you didn’t sleep with someone? I’ve told that lie too… and I am certain you have as well. I’m not asking you to confess to anything illegal. I’m asking you to defend my husband from the lies of the man who savagely mistreated him and lied to you as well. Frankly, I wouldn’t mind it if you convinced some of your cohorts to help.”

“You’re asking more than you think, Lady Crawley,” Trelawney said, his tone grave. “I will need to think about it.”

“Don’t think too long, Lord Trelawney,” she said as she rose. “I’ll be in London for the Season, but you will send any messages to my Aunt Rosamund. If you’ll excuse me, I have others to call on. It would be nice to have an answer before the trial begins.”

If only so she could plan what to do in the unpleasant aftermath of the Duke’s accusation.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just an FYI - everything I know about the British court system I learned from watching Law and Order: UK, New Tricks, and some cool miniseries where David Tennant played a lawyer who scammed the system into letting him get away with murdering the guy who murdered his wife. Obviously I own any errors in how the court stuff plays out.


	10. Chapter Ten

It was, Martha Levinson thought as she took in her granddaughter’s expression, odd to see how even a short amount of time could change a person. She wondered if Mary or anyone in the Crawley family realized how different they all were. She knew, from Cora’s lengthy and often tear stained letters that after Sybil’s death and Matthew’s apparent death, the whole household had essentially shuttered itself for months. That was understandable, two deaths of such young people so close together, and she was rather shocked that Cora had held the family together so well. Her daughter had forced her often stiff husband to hold his tongue with Sybil’s Irish husband and it had been a blessing in disguise when Matthew had supposedly died. That the openly despised Irish son in law was now welcome at the dinner table with not even a second glance, and was even subtly being directed towards young eligible ladies was a bigger change in the Crawleys than she ever thought she would live to see.

Mary on the surface seemed changed the least. Still completely devoted to getting her own way, and still oblivious to how obvious she was about it, it had been clear from the moment they arrived in London that Mary had a favor to ask, it was just a matter of how ridiculous the favor was. The differences were more subtle. She had always assumed that Matthew Crawley, her granddaughter’s husband and cousin, was a means to an end for Mary. English law meant that Matthew would inherit everything that Mary had ever wanted, the title, the money, and the palatial estate and home that was Downton Abbey. It made perfect sense that Mary would latch onto him, the surprise was in how long it took. When the news had come that Mary’s pleasant, affable husband had died, Martha had considered it a pity, and wondered almost immediately how long it would be before Mary began looking for a new husband. When Cora’s letters brought the news that Matthew was found alive, almost a year after the funeral, alive but so grievously injured he barely knew his name, she had cynically wondered when the divorce would happen. Matthew had been the one who seemed devoted, not Mary, and a husband functioning little better than a child would try the patience of a saint. The news got better and then horrifically worse, Cora had picked up the English way of describing something terrible without actually writing the words “sodomy”, “torture”, and “murder”. Martha had almost turned down the invitation to come for the season but Harold’s peccadillos made it necessary.

She was glad she had come, even if all of her predictions had been wrong. Mary was surprisingly attentive and concerned about Matthew, and if anything the two of them seemed even more in love than the last time she saw them. Everyone seemed surprising jovial, even Violet had managed a few smiles. The only thing that seemed to mar the good mood was talk of the impending trial. She had no doubt that whatever Mary wanted was wrapped up in the trial. She had made a few quiet inquiries on her own, and so had Harold. There was going to be a scandal. That was an understatement, she thought as Mary crossed the room and took a seat next to her in Grantham House’s small sitting parlor. A scandal was Matthew Crawley turning up alive a year after his funeral. If even some of the rumors were true, the trial was a horror show waiting to happen. “Mary,” she said carefully, “It’s been obvious since I arrived that you want to speak with me.”

“I have been hoping to speak with you, Grandmama,” Mary said easily enough. “I know you’re aware of the murder trial coming up…”

“It’s hardly been a private drama, Mary,” Martha said. “Your mother, for one, has kept me informed of the unpleasantness.” She didn’t care for the euphemism but while they were alone in the sitting parlor, they weren’t alone in the house, and Cora had in her gentle, and genteel way, made it clear that the more sordid details needed to be kept quiet.

Mary nodded. She took a deep breath, obviously bracing herself. “It’s very likely that the Duke of Crowborough will make a public accusation during the trial. The prosecutor is doing everything he can to protect Matthew and mitigate the damage but… Matthew is a very strong man but I think you understand how… reputation destroying the accusations will be. The last thing I want is for him to face that level of scorn. It might be easier, after the trial, if we could spend some time away from Downton, from England, really, to let the talk die down. Would it trouble you greatly if Matthew and I, and little George, came to stay with you in Rhode Island for a bit?”

And isn’t that the revelation, Martha thought to herself as she looked at Mary’s worried face, my cold, aristocratic granddaughter is so much in love with her husband that she’s willing to leave that ridiculous estate she adores beyond reason just to make things easier for him. It was unexpected, and pleasing, that Mary had finally found someone that she could love. Still, after a week of watching Mary and Matthew interact, she wondered if her granddaughter would accept the advice she was about to give. “Of course it wouldn’t be any trouble, Mary. It would be lovely to have your family visit. I do want to ask you something, though.”

“Of course, Grandmama.” Mary was relieved, that much was obvious. Considering what was likely to come out, Martha understood the relief. She was suddenly more impressed with Mary. There weren’t many women who would champion a man caught up in such a horrific situation, and on top of that, Mary had been raised to be an insufferable snob.

“Does your husband know you’re asking me this?” That was the potential fail point she saw in Mary’s plan. She wasn’t surprised when Mary shook her head. Matthew didn’t strike her as the kind of man who viewed his wife as an object to control, he seemed to value their partnership, and that was exactly what had her concerned. Mary was her granddaughter and Martha loved her, but while Mary was manipulative and sneaky to a fault, she wasn’t always subtle about it. “You’re very lucky in that Matthew is clearly a man not offended by the notion of having a strong wife, but even the kindest and gentlest of nature have their pride, Mary. The accusation, whether true or not, is the sort of accusation that touches a man’s pride.”

“It’s *not* true,” Mary rushed to say. Then she hesitated. “It’s not true, the accusation Philip will make, that Matthew was a willing participant.”

That was an interesting way to phrase it. Martha inwardly marveled at how Mary was handling that. There’s some Levinson in her after all, she thought. “Mary… allow me to drop the pretense of pretending I don’t know the details.” She hesitated, because she was certain Mary had been raised from childhood to question the advice of any American, but especially her liberal minded American grandmother. “Men can be quite… humiliated when their manhood is questioned.”

“I don’t question Matthew’s manhood,” Mary said, almost laughing. She touched her slightly curved stomach, confirming a suspicion Martha had. “He’s not been negligent in his duties.”

“Then why are you treating him like a child?” Martha waited just a moment to continue. “He seems quite mentally together. You leave him alone with your son with no concern, he seems well aware that this trial is going to ruin him, he’s no doubt aware of how painful it will be. And he knows that you have family in America. Have you even discussed it with him? That you have already made plans for him to run and hide in a different country?”

“Not directly, no,” Mary admitted. “He’s been so focused on getting well, and the upcoming trial, I didn’t want to concern him.”

“Oh Mary, he’s concerned.” In fact the worry on Matthew’s face only left when he was playing with his child. "He won’t thank you for making arrangements behind his back. He’ll think you don’t trust him as a husband.”

For a moment, she could see the sheer worry roll across Mary’s face. “That’s not my intent at all, Grandmama. I just… I want things to be easier for him. The trial will be incredibly difficult. The last thing I want him to worry about is that I am worried.”

You have changed so much, Martha thought, and for the better. “Then take my advice and talk to your husband. Tell him I invited you for a holiday, put the idea in his head so he can suggest it to you if things go badly. And you need to cover your tracks better if you don’t want him to know you’re corralling witnesses with his lawyer and his valet and that sleazy underbutler.”

That rocked Mary back. “Oh god, you don’t think he knows, do you? He can’t know…”

That was even more interesting, especially when she considered how blatantly obvious it was that Matthew Crawley was turning a blind eye to his wife’s many appointments and luncheons that didn’t include him. “Mary, take my advice and talk to your husband. You’ll regret it if you don’t.” It’s not meddling when you care, Martha told herself, and the fact that Mary was even willing to listen was a positive sign.

~*~

“We need to talk,” Mary said as she watched Matthew settle George in the crib near their bed. George would be back in the nursery as soon as they were home, but she had to admit, having him in the bedroom hadn’t been the trial she had expected. Having George there also meant that Matthew wasn’t likely to raise his voice. The walls of Grantham House weren’t thin, but it was a much smaller home than the Abbey.

“Yes, I suspect we do,” Matthew said, his tone curt. He sat down on the bed. “Today, while I was at Selfridges, with George, having photographs taken for you and Mother as a surprise for you both, I happened to walk by a small café where I noticed you, Charles Blake, Lord Trelawney, and Sir Isaac Richardson having a late lunch. I’m genuinely curious why you were dining with three men instead of having tea with Rose’s mother? I’m very curious indeed since I know for a fact that you couldn’t possibly be having an affair with any of them.”

Oh this is lovely, Mary thought darkly. “If you must know, Charles and I have been trying to find people willing to testify that they saw you in Philip’s house working as a footman and acting muddled.”

“Really? And you didn’t think to mention this plan to me?” He was angry, she could see it, but also somehow tired. Resigned. “Mary, they won’t testify. They have everything to lose and nothing to gain. Frankly, Charles is going to ruin his prospects, all for naught, and he’s the innocent one among them. The only way someone could testify on my behalf is if they incriminate themselves."

And this is why I love you, Mary thought tiredly, and why you can’t be allowed to know the plan. It was infuriating at times, knowing he would, if it was required to save someone else, allow the entire scandal to be splayed out to the public, but was unable to see that it was possible other people might sacrifice themselves to save him. Trelawney and Richardson hadn’t committed to testifying, but they were considering it, in part because they were horrified at what they had unwittingly done, and partly because Matthew hadn’t gone to the papers and named names. It clearly had never dawned on Matthew that people could take the stand for him and also lie. As much as her grandmother’s words resounded in her head, she knew it was important that Matthew not know that the plan to save him involved people committing perjury. Beesely called it plausible deniability. “Charles felt it was worth a try. Even one more person would help if Philip accuses you of being there willingly.” She took a seat next to him and took his hand. “This will be over soon, Matthew. If nothing else, Philip will hang and he will never be able to harm anyone else again.”

Matthew sighed. “And that is what I wanted.”

It was as good of a time as any. “Grandmama suggested we come and visit her in Rhode Island after the trial.” She waited a long moment. When he said nothing, she pressed on. “I’m not over fond of the idea of America, but it could be a fresh start for us, for you in particular. You could be a lawyer again. You wouldn’t have the trial or the accident constantly thrown in your face. I’m willing. There’s nowhere you could ask me to go that I’d refuse. Except Nebraska. The very name sounds unpleasant.”

He smiled and leaned in to kiss her. “I know you’d follow me, Mary. But…. No. I’m not leaving England to let the scandal die down. I did nothing wrong. If I leave, I’m as much saying I was there willingly. I wasn’t. I’m not proud of… my incapability, but I was injured. I wasn’t there of my own will, I wasn’t capable of leaving or refusing, and I refuse to be blamed for it.” He kissed her again. “The memories aren’t easy… I’ve struggled, more than you possibly know, over remembering things that would have seemed impossible if I had any awareness. I just…. I’m tired of feeling guilty over something I was never capable of stopping. I have to thank you, by the way.”

“Whatever for?” she asked as he pulled her into an embrace.

“Because,” he said as they both laid back on the bed, entwined in each other’s arms, “You are remarkably insightful when you allow yourself to be. You were right. I wasn’t willing to see it. I wasn’t allowing myself to see the truth that I wasn’t at fault. I somehow thought I must have done something, I must have somehow wanted it because I was too broken and terrified to keep fighting it. What you told me, months ago, was that I was hurt, and until I healed, I was defenseless against it. You were right, you and Tom both. I was blaming myself. I’m not doing that anymore. And I refuse to leave my home like some sort of shamed beaten dog. I did nothing wrong and after this trial, I plan to return to Downton Abbey with my head held high and at least try to convince your father that turning a profit on the property isn’t a sin.” He laughed as he pulled her close. “And if you genuinely want to visit your grandmother in America, I think a vacation would be lovely but we should wait until after the baby is born. I mean, you did establish that I am not allowed to travel without escort for the duration.”

“You’re being silly,” she said with a laugh. “It was no driving, not no travel at all.” She curled into his body, feeling one hundred times better about it all. Grandmama was right, she realized, Matthew and I needed to talk, I needed to know how well he really is.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up, the trial! :D


	11. Chapter 11

Beesely leaned back in his chair. “You want me to do what, Mr. Crawley?” He knew he’d heard the man correctly, he just needed a moment to think.

Crawley, for his part, managed to repeat it without blushing. “I want you to ask me about the details of what happened to me the night I was almost murdered, in the trial. I want you to ask the questions you’ve previously chosen to avoid.”

“I know you’re not a masochist, Mr. Crawley, or a martyr, so I need to know what your logic is in asking me to do that.” Matthew didn’t know that thanks to his wife, there were witnesses willing to testify, and that Beesely had Jacob Hightower in his back pocket with a plea deal to be a witness for the King. There were good reason to ask the questions, strategic reasons, but there were also good reasons to avoid intentionally raising the issue. Namely, there was still an outside chance that Philip wouldn’t bring it up. Revealing it in direct testimony meant there was no chance of keeping it out of the papers.

Matthew nodded. “I understand why you’re asking. I’ll be blunt. It’s going to come out. Too many people know.” He let his hands rest in his lap. “I’ve… accepted that. It will be difficult but not impossible and I am luckier than most in that my family supports me and that I have the money and position to ignore the people who don’t. I don’t see the point in attempting to preserve a lie and… there are strategic reasons that it’s better to have it come out on direct examination.”

Beesely nodded. “Perhaps you are a prosecutor at heart, Mr. Crawley. What are those reasons?” He knew what they were, he just wanted to make sure his witness understood what it would entail.

“First, if it comes out when the defense attorney asks me an unpleasant question and I answer it honestly, it makes me look deceptive simply because it wasn’t mentioned on direct.” Matthew said it easily. “Second, allowing the defense attorney to ask the question means that the defense attorney controls how the… issue is first presented to the judge and jury. If you raise the issue on direct, you can present it in a sympathetic light where it is already established that I was victimized and in no mental state to resist. The defense lawyer might simply make an accusation that I would have to respond to. Third, raising it on direct defuses the power of the accusation that Philip will make, that I was a willing participant. Hearing that I was assaulted on direct takes away the shock value.”

“You’ll never escape the stigma,” Beesely said carefully. “Your son, your future children will know what happened.”

Matthew looked at him, his expression intent. “Then better they hear it from me than from their snickering school friends who will tell them anyway. It happened. I can’t escape it or hide it, and there are so many people who already know. I’m not living my life in constant fear that someone will find out that… I was raped and sodomized by the Duke of Crowborough.”

Beesely could almost see a weight lift off the man’s shoulders. That was a good sign. “Fortunately, I considered this eventuality and I have questions prepared.” He wouldn’t have asked to take the case in that direction, there was still an outside chance Philip wouldn’t go for the throat in a death spiral attempt to win. Not much of a chance, he had to concede that. Philip wasn’t going to go meekly to the gallows and it was the only card he had to play.

Matthew nodded. “Good. It’s time Philip understands who is in control of this. I did nothing wrong. I certainly didn’t agree to being thrown face down in a field and held down and violated. I’m tired of having to worry that Philip has the power to destroy my life with an accusation. So to hell with it. I’m tired of dancing around the truth. I’m the one in control of this sideshow event, and I want to see the look on the bloody bastard’s face when he realizes his brilliant plan to ruin me ruins him in the process. He murdered nineteen men, and he knew who I was the second he saw me and put my family through a year of hell for no reason other than petty spite. Instead of letting this sword hang over my head, it’s time to grab it and start swinging.”

“Are the guests still part of our school room legal problem?” Beesely asked. “Or should I ask you about that at the trial?” He rather thought he knew the answer and Matthew confirmed it in seconds.

“None of those men deserve a prize for their behavior,” Matthew said carefully. “But I don’t think any of them had any awareness that they weren’t with a willing servant, and none of them were complicit in the murders. It does no good to drag them into it.” He shook his head. “Considering who some of them are, it’s surprising that I haven’t received threats.”

Beesely considered the secret witness list and nodded agreement. It would be better to air the dirty laundry on direct examination. It would stun the defense and then, before they could react, he’d throw Jacob Hightower on the stand, and then parade first the family and servants out to talk about how Matthew recovered. Then, if it was necessary, he’d call the special witnesses and they would drive the nails into the gallows that the Duke of Crowborough so richly deserved. He only could foresee one problem. “As your family will be attending the trial, are they all aware of what you’re going to say? If there’s anyone who doesn’t know…”

Matthew sighed. “Yes… That is something I have to tend to.”

~*~

It was three days before the trial, and that was why Isobel Crawley was surprised to see her son at the door. It was raining and he’d clearly been caught in the downpour, and as she opened the door to let him inside, she was struck by how the moment was echoing that terrible moment just less than a year earlier, when on a dark dreary day she let a bedraggled stranger into her home simply because he reminded her of her son. Her dead son, who wasn’t dead, and who was standing in her foyer shivering as he took off his wet jacket. He smiled at her reassuringly. “I’m just a little wet, Mother. You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

She shook it off in an instant. Matthew had troubles enough, despite his miraculous recovery, he didn’t need to know he’d given her a start. “You should have driven. You had to have noticed the storm coming in. Let me get you a cup of tea before you catch your death of cold.”

“Oh Mother, I’m just wet, I won’t melt,” Matthew said easily as he followed her into the sitting room where she had been having tea by herself. The servants were off for the afternoon and it was another echo. Matthew made it worse when he took a seat and said, “Besides, Mary makes a show of joking about it but it upsets her when I drive.”

She handed him a cup of tea and sat down. “All things considered, I’m not sure I blame her for that. I was planning to join you at the Abbey tonight for dinner, so why have you walked here in the rain?”

He sipped his tea and looked down at his feet. “I wanted to talk to you… about the trial… and about something that will come out at the trial that might upset you. Particularly since you were planning to attend.”

“Something more upsetting than my son being savagely beaten and left for dead in a field after being held captive like a slave for months?” She smiled slightly to reassure him. I knew this was coming, she reminded herself. There was always that bit of darkness that she hadn’t pressed about, that thing she suspected. Remember the morgue, she told herself, remember how much worse that moment was, how little what he’s about to say is in comparison, and how difficult it must be to say it to me. “More upsetting than your funeral?”

Matthew smiled wryly. “That does make things easier to bear in retrospect, doesn’t it?”

“Quite a bit, really.” She meant it, which made it easier to say. “Matthew, there’s nothing that you could say that would upset me more than that awful day almost two years ago. Nothing.”

He nodded, and looked at her, and then dropped his eyes to the floor. “Oh god, I don’t know how to say this…” He took a deep breath and let it out, and quite pale. “Philip… in the field that night… they chased me and threw me down and… and they violated me. It wasn’t the only time… it was just the last time… Philip didn’t kill me on a whim…They did it to all of those men…”

Isobel nodded. It was what she had suspected for some time, from when his memories were few and far between and he was so adamant in insisting he was a terrible, useless person not worthy of any kindness. That and the ugly rumors surrounding the Duke had made her suspicious. The ugliness of what happened suddenly opened up to her. Philip wasn’t just an abusive monster delighting in torturing his servants. The other men, the dead men, had likely been beaten and raped and then had been murdered for their trouble. Matthew was alive due to the whim of a sick psychopath. She quickly moved to take a seat next to him and took his hand. “I won’t lie, I’ve suspected something like this. There have been rumors… You know I love you and support you and I certainly don’t blame you for this happening.” She hesitated. “Is there a reason this has to come out at the trial?”

“Philip knows he’s lost but he’s all about control.” Matthew’s hands shook as she held them. “It was always about control, and delighting in controlling me and making me do as he ordered. He won’t get away with murder, Mother, the evidence is too damning. But if he thinks he can destroy my life, he will. His lawyer will ask me if it happened. If I lie, Philip and his men will testify that I am a homosexual and I willingly participated, and ruin me. If I admit it under direct examination, then we take away the sting of the accusation and Mr. Beesely will argue that my mental capacity was questionable.”

There was more to it than that but she decided not to press. He was telling her so that she didn’t find out in the court room. She could see the problem, if he lied under oath, he would make it much worse, if he waited for the defense to ask him about it, he would look guilty. And if he testified the way he planned, he would be embarrassed and humiliated. The smart thing, not the decent thing but the smart thing, would have been to keep silent, and she was suddenly intensely proud of him. He was doing the decent thing, because he couldn’t turn a blind eye to the fact that the Duke didn't just victimize him, that there were other victims and if he left it alone, the Duke would kill more men. “You know, your father would be very proud of you.”

“Oh Mother, I doubt that,” he said tiredly. “I’m bringing scorn and shame down on the family name.”

“That’s not at all true. You’re doing the difficult thing instead of taking the easy path, because you know not acting will put some other innocent man in danger. What’s really the worst that happens, Matthew?” She said it with some force. She was obviously the last person to be told, she realized that almost immediately. It explained so many awkward moments over the last few months. Mary had likely known since the dreadful Christmas party, and Robert and Tom as well. Matthew waited to tell her to spare her the worry and because of all the needless shame he felt about it. “Think about it.”

“The worst,” he mused. “I’ll be known as the half-witted ponce of Downton Abbey.”

“And the naysayers will have to call you your lordship,” she added. “You never liked the expensive parties. Now you have an excuse to not invite a large group of people you don’t like to your home. After the trial, wrest control of the estate from Robert and make some money. Try writing mystery novels, like that Christie woman. You’re much cleverer and you will have a scandalous background.”

“Or,” he said, his eyes brightening, “Perhaps I should writing for the moving pictures. We could film mystery stories at the Abbey and stage elaborate dinner parties where I end up with blood all over my shirt. We could stage sordid murders for our guests to solve.”

“I think that’s positively visionary, Matthew.” Isobel said, chuckling.

Matthew also laughed. “Sadly, Mother, you do understand the first murder to be solved would be mine since Robert would kill me as such a venture would be far more horrifying to him than this trial?”

“Perhaps he should be the first victim. Your career of writing mysteries and staging murder dinners at the Abbey would be easier if you were the half-witted, half mad Earl of Grantham. You should kill him with a candlestick in the library.” It was morbidly silly but it was getting them both past the ugliness. It was also a testament to how badly stressed he’d been that in his relief he was willing to indulge the silliness.

“I could leave the bloody candlestick in the dog’s bed… to cast suspicion on the dog, of course,” he said, laughing. “I think that’s a masterstroke of genius, Mother. Please don’t tell the police.”

“Of course not.” She certainly did plan to talk to Mary though. Matthew was going to need her to lean on. At least he knew that the family was standing with him.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, I promised the trial but I had some loose ends to tend to.


	12. Chapter 12

“Mary are you sure that dress is appropriate for this,” her father asked as they took their reserved seats. The courtroom was packed to the brim. It irritated her, the ghouls looking to pick the bones of a scandal that involved murders and worse.

“It’s a perfectly appropriate dress, Papa.” She knew why he was objecting and made a point of putting her hand on her enlarged stomach. “It isn’t a crime for me to be with child, and Mr. Beesely made the point that considering what will come, it helps the prosecution.”

“I’m surprised Isobel decided to not come,” Robert said quietly.

Mary shook her head. “She worried that he would find it too difficult to testify with her in the audience. God knows we rarely give her credit, but Matthew gets some of the sharp wit from her and not just his father.” She looked at her father. “I’m glad Matthew told her, for his sake… but she knew. She’ll be here for when the servants testify and the other business…” And she said a silent prayer, not for the first time, that she’d made a loyal friend of Charles Blake. “But she wanted him to have the freedom of testifying without immediately worrying that his mother was horrified.”

“Are you sure you won’t be horrified?” Robert took her hand. She grasped it gratefully.

“There’s nothing Matthew will say that I am not already aware of.” She gave her father a smile and a heartfelt look. “I’m not a particularly nice person, Papa. For the longest time, I accepted that, that and the fact I was unlikely to have the marriage and love that you and Mama had, a marriage where all is shared, where it wasn’t a competition between myself and some interloper I had to marry. And then Matthew came into my life and… I discovered that sharing myself didn’t mean I was losing myself, it meant I was allowing myself to accept what Matthew wanted to give me. I know what Matthew will say today and it is nothing compared to being without him. Thank you for setting the example in your marriage to Mama. It is the example I have tried to emulate.”

He held her hand, clearly overcome. “I don’t deserve such accolades, Mary, but I am honored you feel that way.” He was quiet for a long moment. Then he sighed. “Most of these people are reporters. It’s like they’ve never had a trial before.”

“It’s a trial of a peer, Papa. The last time a duke went on trial before a jury of peers, Granny was my age. It’s like a circus and a holiday for these reporter sorts.” The crowd hushed as Matthew was led to the witness stand and sworn in. Please, she prayed silently, please let this work.”

It wasn’t easy, to listen as Matthew described in careful detail how he woke up in the morgue with some thief going through his pockets, how he panicked and jumped into an empty boxcar only to be rousted by police and taken to a workhouse. How Bill Murdoch, the now dead workhouse director gave him to the Duke of Crowborough with a cuff to the head that it’d one hundred times worse for him if he didn’t please the Duke. He described being starved and beaten for the smallest things, being told again and again that he was John Fox, a miserable stupid fool who was lucky to be given a place at all. It was painful to listen to, but she made a point of keeping her eyes on him. She did occasionally spare a glance to the jury. She suspected Philip had made a mistake in insisting on a trial by his peers. They were all her father’s age or older and she could already see some of them wincing uncomfortably at Matthew’s testimony, especially as he began describing that last night. As he described being dragged into the estate’s barn and flogged with a whip, she tensed. It was the start of the horror show.

“For the purpose of allowing the jury to see the evidence,” Beesely said, his voice ringing through the court, “the prosecution requires that you take off your shirt and show the jury your injuries.” He looked at the spectators. “I do recommend that any delicate souls and women avert their eyes.”

“Objection!” Dobbs shot up. “It is well know that Mr. Crawley suffered severe back injuries in the war. His scars, however unsightly, cannot be attributed to his unsubstantiated memory loss.”

Beesely smiled at the judge. “I have a witness to testify, a Dr. Richard Clarkson, who personally treated Mr. Crawley’s injuries in the war, and the unfortunate car accident. He will testify that when he last saw Mr. Crawley, on the morgue table, that Mr. Crawley did not have whip scars after his car accident, but did have them upon his return, a year later.”

Dobbs raised his hand again. “Then the defense stipulates that the scars exist but not to Mr. Crawley’s implausible web of lies, and asks that the prosecution be rebuked for this bit of sensationalist grandstanding.”

The judge considered it for a moment. “Objection overruled. You will have an opportunity to ask Mr. Crawley questions about his testimony. Mr. Crawley’s injuries are evidence. The jury will see the scars… I do trust that this need not be a lengthy display?”

There were audible gasps, some from the jury, and one from her father, as Matthew took off his shirt. “I hadn’t… I didn’t ask him to show me the scars,” Robert admitted to her in a whisper. “He’s lucky that didn’t kill him.”

She nodded. She was used to it, but she was also used to the idea that her husband still could only rarely be coaxed to not wear pajamas, or undress in front of her. It was a small thing, but she shot Philip a glare. He caught her glance and smiled slightly, clearly amused that she was angry. Aren’t you going to get a surprise, she thought darkly, as she watched Matthew get dressed and resume his place at the witness stand.

“So after you were brutally whipped, for dropping a tray,” Beesely said, “what happened next?”

Mary tensed. Do what you think is right, she thought at him.

Matthew nodded at her, as if he’d read her mind. He straightened his posture. “The Duke told me that we were going to play a game. He called it the fox hunt. I was the fox, he was the hunter, and the other servants were his hounds. I was to get five minutes to run and if I managed to get off the estate grounds… I’d get to live. If I was caught, he’d allow everyone to blood the fox.”

Mary dared a glance at the defense. They were all turning as white as ghosts. I hope it kills you, she thought harshly.

Beesely hesitated dramatically. He really was a fine actor, she realized. “Mr. Crawley, in practice, what did the Duke of Crowborough mean by blooding the fox?”

“He meant,” Matthew said, his voice firm, “That I would be thrown down and violated sexually by all of them.”

“And… were you caught?’

“Yes.”

“And were you thrown down to the ground and sexually violated?”

“Yes.”

“By all of them?”

“Yes.”

There were no gasps, just a shocked silence. Beesely let it linger, clearly for effect. Finally, he looked at the jury, and then at the defendants, his disgust plain on his face. "Then what happened,  Mr. Crawley?"

"I was...barely able to move." His voice was firm but Mary could see his white knuckled grip on the stand railing." Hightower, Jacob Hightower asked the Duke if he wanted to kill me, or if he should do it. The Duke... The Duke laughed and said to just leave me, that the pretty little fox knew when he was getting a chance. They left me in the ravine. After a while, an hour or so I suppose, I was able to get to my feet and that’s when I saw the bodies... The bodies of the other footmen."

Again there was a long silence. "You didn't think to go to the police?" Beesely asked.

"No, not at the time." Matthew hesitated. "It had been impressed upon me, with fists and riding crop at times, that I was a near imbecile that wouldn't be believed and that I didn't deserve better treatment because I was too stupid for words and didn't even know my own name. Some experiences I had after... Gave me the impression that this was true."

"In fact," Beesely intoned, "it was sometime before you even understood that you might be more than a simple minded man with no name and no claim to any rights, correct?"

"Yes. I started to find things familiar when I was moving from town to town. I was, in a way, very lucky to do repair work for an elderly woman who recognized me, although she was suffering from her own memory issues due to her age. She called me Matthew and gave me the address of a woman that she thought could help me." A smile crossed his face. "It was my mother's name and address, although I didn't realize it at the time."

"Even when you were told that you were, without a doubt, Matthew Crawley, heir to the Earldom of Grantham, and not just some indigent imbecile, you didn't tell any of your relatives about what had happened to you." Beesely waited.

Mary watched worriedly. Her concern was for her father, she knew what Matthew was going to say, and she suspected if nothing else, it would hurt her father's feelings that Matthew hadn’t immediately trusted them.

"My memory didn't return in a matter of minutes," Matthew said carefully. "I remembered childhood memories first. When I began to recall Lord Grantham, and my wife, it was coupled with the fact that we met originally under harsh circumstances. It was some time before I even trusted that I wasn’t being tricked in some way. I thought... I worried about what was expected of me." His voice trailed off.

Beesely made a show of consulting his notes. "Earlier, when you testified that you were beaten when you refused to do unpleasant tasks, did those tasks include pleasuring the Duke, sexually?"

  Matthew blanched. "Yes." There was another shocked silence. Beesely didn't let it linger as long. "I imagine that made you hesitant to approach any other estate for work. Believing that a servant was required to do such things without complaint, am I correct?" He barely let Matthew answer before asking the next question. "You were beaten for not complying. You were refused food and rest and were a mass of bruises from the beatings. Did you think that you would be killed if you continued to not comply?"

"Yes," Matthew said. "I was certain of it." He looked down, obviously needing a moment. Mary glanced over to the defense. The lawyer, Dobbs, was white faced in horror. The servants looked guilty or ashamed. Philip in contrast looked bored. He made a show of rolling his eyes.

As Beesely led Matthew through the rest of his testimony, Mary wondered if Dobbs had anything left to ask. Dobbs and Philip had a brief, clearly heated discussion before Dobbs stood up. She took that, and the fact that Dobbs was sweating to be good signs. Dobbs looked at Matthew. "Mr. Crawley, I'm genuinely curious. Are you saying you were held captive? That you couldn't leave?"

It was a loaded question, a difficult one for Matthew to answer without making a miss step. "I never understood it to be an option. I was told if I left, I'd be taken back to the workhouse and sent someplace worse."

"But you weren't chained? Or tied up? You could have simply walked out the door?" Dobbs pressed. "Quite frankly, Mr. Crawley, it seems unlikely that a man such as yourself, a lawyer, a captain in the Royal Army, could be so lost." His tone was such that it was clear he thought Matthew was lying.

"I didn't know my own name," Matthew said after a moment. "My mother couldn't convince me that I was her son for weeks. I had to be told who my wife was. I certainly didn't remember being a lawyer. I assure you, Mr. Dobbs, if I could have remembered any skill, I would have used it." He smiled wryly. "If you didn't know it already, then let me enlighten you. Working as a lawyer is much easier than shoveling asphalt or mucking out a stall. It pays better as well."

Beesely stood up as the audience, including the jurors, tittered. "The prosecution will provide witnesses who hired Mr. Crawley for menial day labor work if it's actually being questioned." Mary found herself nodded to that. It had taken some tracking down and some prodding to get some people to agree to testify but there were witnesses.

"Yes, I'm sure you covered your tracks well," Dobbs said, warming to his topic. "Mr. Crawley, this is a really elaborate plot to explain your own deviancy isn't it?"

Matthew stiffened. "Absolutely not."

"You completely forgot your entire sense of self?" Dobbs asked. "I think the truth here is that you found your life as a married man and heir to an earldom to be too onerous. I think you're a homosexual and you found yourself suddenly free after this car accident... If you didn't stage that accident.... To escape your life... You weren't born to the lifestyle you are now forced to be in. Didn't you really ask the Duke of Crowborough if you could hide at his home? Didn't you offer yourself to him?"

"I'm not a homosexual," Matthew said firmly. "I was happily married, and I am happily married. I did not stage the car accident I was in. I was so badly injured a doctor pronounced my death and my father in law and my mother were shown my body. In order for your theory to be plausible, my doctor, my father in law and my mother all would have needed to lie to my wife. Also, even though you're suggesting I am faking my injuries, I do have the scar on my head, the scars on my left arm and leg, and I am happy to show you the fingers on my left  hand that no longer open. The Duke of Crowborough did not invite me into his home. I was not a guest. I was barely able to think, I was savagely beaten into submission. Logically, if I wanted to stay at Crowborough Place because I liked what I was doing, there's still the fact that I was whipped and left for dead in a ravine that held six bodies. And the police found more, fresher bodies after. I chose to call the police when I came to full awareness because as humiliating as it is to state in open court that I was violently sodomized by a group of men, the unpleasant fact here is that there's nineteen dead men to account for. Nineteen men who weren't lucky enough to survive. I couldn't let it continue." Matthew paused. "Or are you suggesting they were also guests who wanted the deviant lifestyle?"

"Are you a witness, Mr. Crawley, or the assisting prosecutor?" Dobbs shot back. "The court will admonish Mr. Crawley to stop asking questions."

"Agreed," the judge said. "Mr. Crawley, you're here to testify, not to prosecute. That said, the court notes Mr. Crawley has made a valid point, that this trial is about nineteen murders, not homosexual trysts. Your theory of the case is now public, Mr. Dobbs, and the witness has responded. Let's move on."

"I may wish to recall this witness." Dobbs stumbled over his words and wiped his brow. And with that, her husband was allowed to leave the stand. Mary was pleasantly surprised that Beesely had arranged for two burly looking fellows to hold the crowd back as court was let out for the day.

Beesely waited until they were safely out of the court building to start talking. "You do realize that you were brilliant on the stand, don't you?" Beesely was quite jovial. "It couldn't have gone better."

"I admit," Matthew said tiredly, "I'm probably too spent to see what you mean." Mary made a point to taking his arm as they walked. He was tired, she realized, if he wasn't seeing it, tired or too overwhelmed with what he had needed to say.  
 

"The jury was horrified by your testimony, and further horrified that Philip's reaction was to look bored and annoyed," Beesely said. "You came off completely ingenuous. They obviously weren't expecting the admission and Dobb's accusation sounded patently ridiculous coming after your testimony. You've pulled the teeth of the defense argument. You made it quite clear that you weren't aware enough to escape, and Dobbs made the mistake of allowing you to spell it out. No matter how hard he tries to say you were a willing participant, the jury will have to convince themselves that your mother and your father in law participated in the farce. Since they'll both be testifying, I can now ask them on direct examination if they decided to pretend you were dead and deceive your wife on the point." He turned to Robert. "I trust you have an opinion on that idea, your lordship?"

"You're bloody well right I do," Robert said. "I wanted to clap when you told that idiot lawyer off, Matthew."

"And I suspect that reaction was nearly universal," Beesely added. "The judge as much told Dobbs he was being a fool in his line of questioning. But let's keep moving, I don't want you to spend the night harassed on the streets by reporters."

"I suppose," Matthew said. "I just... I didn't want the family dragged through a scandal. And here we are, and I dare say I know what tomorrow's headline will be. And this could still fail. Philip is an accomplished liar and so are his men."

"I can't tell you to not worry," Beesely said, "since we both know it all depends on the jury, but right now I think the jury would easily vote to convict. It will be worse tomorrow."

Matthew looked at him quizzically. "What do you mean?"

"I managed to persuade Jacob Hightower to take a plea deal in exchange for his testimony. He'll be corroborating that you weren't a willing participant."

 

Matthew, Mary noticed, seemed determined to be gloomy. "That may not be enough."

"Enough," she said brightly. "You're acting worse than George when the nanny isn't right on the spot with his dinner. Let's get to Grantham House and you can see him and get some dinner yourself." She suspected tomorrow would be a great surprise to him.


	13. Chapter Thirteen

He made a point of ignoring the stares. It would go away in time; he knew that because the stares he received for having come back from the dead had eventually faded away. It would take longer, and it would be easier at Downton than in London, but it would happen.

"Has the testimony been difficult to listen to?" Mary asked, her tone light but careful, penetrating through his melancholy. She was being a good soldier again, and he appreciated it as much as he hated the necessity.

"I admit, it's unpleasant to know that I apparently was quite the burden to the staff early on," he shrugged. "I hadn't forgotten the incident with Daisy and the dishes, but I hadn't realized what an impression it had left on everyone." He was genuinely shaken by how upset Carson had been, relating the incident with the dishes. "It was also upsetting to know how worried you and Mother were. I wish you would have said something..."

"I know, but it's like I testified," Mary sighed. "You weren't in any state to be burdened with it. Believe me, Matthew, you were like a skittish baby deer those first few weeks. Anything other than a pleasant look would send you running back to the forest thicket you were hiding in." She took his hand and squeezed it firmly, obviously trying to reassure him. "We were all worried, but we were also overjoyed to have you back. The worst part of that early time was knowing that things had been so terrible for you that you could have thought we were just as awful as he was… We knew someone had hurt you, we just didn’t know how. You were trying so hard to remember and to not upset any of us..."

He smiled at her, to reassure her. "I do remember. I thought you were all going to get tired of my being completely useless and not knowing anything and realize how much easier things were if I wasn't around. I considered leaving in the middle of the night more than once."

She frowned sadly for a moment. "Why didn't you?" she asked cautiously.

"Because every day became easier than the day before," he nodded. "Some of that was just settling into the household routine and learning everyone's name and not calling Rose by Sybil's name, but also just… If I wasn’t quite really remembering, it was as though I could feel the memories wanting to peek out. And as much as I felt stupid for not recalling anything at first, there was too much evidence that everyone was telling me the truth. Our wedding pictures, pictures of my mother and I together, my handwriting in the library ledger, the fingerprints.” He gave her an amused look. “I also have to be honest. I didn’t exactly have anywhere else to go. I admit to having the very mercenary thought early on that if these rich people wanted to feed and clothe me and didn’t expect me to muck out the stable, then why should I argue against it?”

“Isn’t that lucky for us? I’m surprised Philip hasn’t suggested you’re not really Matthew Crawley. God knows he seems to be trying everything else.” She looked around the courtroom, watching as more people filed in, then leaned in closer to him, a playful smirk on her lips. “The way these people are staring, I’ve half a mind to sit on your lap and give them a show. But I suspect your mother and my father might take us to task.”

“Don’t think I would object,” he whispered back. “Though, yes I doubt we need to add to the scandal.” Matthew looked at his watch. “I’m still surprised Hightower took the plea.” Though if there was a clever mastermind, it was Hightower, he thought. If Philip had listened to Hightower that terrible night, and not to the petty voice in his head, there would be no trial because Hightower would have killed him rather than take the chance. His own memories told him that Hightower had the brutal streak. Philip enjoyed petty humiliations while Hightower took pleasure in causing pain and fear. There was no doubt in his mind that Hightower was the one who preferred killing the poor fellows that Philip abused.

Mary sniffed in disgust. “They all deserve to hang. Hightower is just the only one that isn’t stupid enough to think Philip’s status as a peer will matter.”

Matthew kept silent. Philip being a peer did matter, and he didn’t feel like pointing it out, especially as Jacob Hightower was marched to the stand. Beesely went right to it, covering that Hightower had accepted a plea deal in order to testify. “You are turning king’s evidence, is that correct, Mr. Hightower?”

“Yes,” Hightower said with a certain detachment. He didn’t look at Philip, who was glaring daggers at him. It wasn’t a surprise to the defense. Matthew was just surprised that the man had taken the plea.

Philip’s obvious outrage intrigued him. It obviously wasn’t part of a show for the jury. Matthew had suspected that Hightower and Philip had a complicated alliance and this proved it. As much as Philip was the more dominant presence due to his status in society, Hightower had been the one to lead Philip down the path of malevolent sadism. That Philip jumped in feet first made Philip culpable but Hightower had shown him the way. And then lost control.

It was unpleasant to listen to but at least he had a grudging respect Jacob Hightower wasn’t hedging on the answers, even when the answers depicted him as a brutal monster.

“We didn’t start off killing them,” Hightower was almost casual in describing it. “It just started to irritate his Grace that it was getting harder to get staff. Murdoch turned us on to the idea that the dimmer ones were easier to control, and Philip said he was doing the countryside a service, making some simpleton useful for a bit and then when he got bored… Why not do the county a further service and eliminate someone who was never going to be productive anyway?” He gave Philip a snide look. “He said it was bad enough that the lower classes bred like vermin, the least he could do is keep the dimwits from breeding.”

Even John Beesely seemed momentarily off put by that. “When William Murdoch brought Matthew Crawley to Crowborough Place, how many men were already dead?”

“Nine.” Hightower shrugged. “His Grace grew bored easily, and some of them really were impossible. I mean, most of them didn’t even know the word fork, let alone how to set a table, and they generally had dreadful accents.”

“Mr. Crawley in contrast has the accent of a well-educated man. Did you wonder about that? Considering the sort of men Murdoch usually brought?”

Matthew could feel Mary tense up next to him. He took her hand. She knew it all but it was still difficult to listen to, especially from Hightower, who seemed to be delighting in his role of the Duke’s betrayer.

“I didn’t like it,” Hightower said easily. “He did sound educated and he looked hurt and I thought the fact that he didn’t even know his name and had scars meant he could be a war veteran, and that meant his family might come looking for him. But Philip… He about did a dance of joy at the sight of Crawley. He told me after Murdoch left that I needn’t worry about the family looking for him, that he was the heir to the Earl of Grantham that was reported dead weeks ago and that made him a perfect plaything.”

“A plaything?” Beesely asked. “For the record, Mr. Hightower, did Matthew Crawley know where he was? Or who he was?”

“Not at all.” Again, Hightower seemed amused by the question. “He had no idea what his name was. He couldn’t count to five without using his fingers. You could tell him to take a dish to the kitchen, and he’d ask where the bloody kitchen was as he stood in it. You could tell him to do something over and over and it would never even register on him, even if you hit him.”

“Did you hit him a lot? Did the Duke and the other servants hit him?” Beesely asked.

“It was the only way to make him learn a job, in the kitchen or in the bedroom,” Hightower retorted.

“To the best of your knowledge, did Matthew Crawley ever say he was Matthew Crawley? Did he ever give any indication that his befuddlement was some sort of playacting? That he was at Crowborough Place by choice and was participating because he wanted to?”

Hightower leaned forward. “You’re joking, right? I thought we’d have to kill him because he just wasn’t getting it and it was turning into a waste of time. It was Philip wanting him broken so badly that kept him alive. Philip thought it was hilarious. See, it seems Philip had a history with the Crawley family. He tried to court the Earl of Grantham’s daughter and the Earl told him off for fortune hunting and he’s harbored a grudge ever since. So breaking young Crawley and using him like a whore was revenge for him. Revenge and amusement, of course. Philip loved the idea of dressing up Grantham’s handsome heir as a footman and using him as a dimwitted servant and bed warmer.”

There was a round of gasps. Matthew was surprised at how shocked Robert and Mary looked at the last revelation. “For God’s sake,” Robert muttered, “All of this because I threw him out years ago.”

Beesely didn’t pause. “To be clear, Mr. Hightower, you are testifying that the Duke of Crowborough knew from the moment Matthew Crawley was brought to his home exactly who Matthew Crawley was and that the man had been reported as dead several weeks earlier?”

“Yes. Philip loved it. Said we’d never get in trouble for it, since everyone thought the man was already dead. That’s why he kept Crawley longer than the others…. It excited him to have an heir to an Earldom at his beck and call. I think he liked ordering Crawley to shine his shoes more than he enjoyed ordering Crawley to polish his knob.”

“Oh God…” Matthew grit his teeth and felt his face flush with embarrassment even as the jury internalized what that meant.

“Why didn’t you kill Crawley?” Beesely asked. It was, Matthew realized, a very good question. If they had killed him, they would no doubt still be free instead of on trial. It was mostly luck that he had survived at all.

Hightower shrugged. “I wanted to. Frankly, I thought keeping him as long as we did was a mistake. Someone was going to recognize him eventually. So we took him out for the hunt, we all had our fun, and Philip balked at the last minute. I think he was afraid of killing someone who wasn’t a lower class wretch. God knows he never hesitated on the others… He liked to cut their throats, said it was his right as lord of the manor. After I’d softened them up, of course. His Grace doesn’t like taking a stray fist.”

Matthew spared a quick glance to the defendants. The servants looked depressed and glum, no doubt understanding that Hightower had just thrown them all to the wolves. It was Philip’s reaction that interested him. Philip was enraged. It wasn’t even close to being under control, Philip looked like he wanted to leap over the table and attack Hightower. Hightower was just a brute, but Philip had enjoyed torturing him the way a child tortured an insect, because he loved having the control to do it. Philip had thought he was in control of Hightower as well, and was livid that his lover had slipped the chain.

Dobbs, the defense attorney, wasn’t as shell shocked by the testimony as he had been when Matthew had testified, and did a surprisingly good job at painting Hightower as the sadistic monster he was, and as the mastermind of the cruelties and murders. Matthew had to admit, as Hightower continued to almost joyfully describe how they beat, raped and murdered the various poor chaps that had been handed over from the workhouse, he was uncomfortable with the idea that Hightower would possibly one day be freed from prison. It was also clear from Dobb’s questions that Philip was planning to play the one card he had left.

“Mr. Hightower, you’ve been very open in stating how you and the defendants abused Mr. Crawley in so many ways… And the Duke is well known for his quiet weekend parties. Did any of these house guests participate in your ugly games?”

If it was possible to feel everyone in the courtroom hold their breath in expectation, Matthew was certain he felt it. Mary gripped his hand. It was no doubt about to get hideously ugly as Hightower spewed out name after name.

But much to his surprise, Hightower cocked his head and looked at Dobbs quizzically. “Why would we do that? It was supposed to be a secret, the Duke’s unnatural tastes. Frankly we had to be careful who we invited when Crawley was the footman because we’d all be in trouble if anyone figured out who he was. No, we weren’t so bloody stupid as to let everyone who stayed at the house to have a turn.”

The answer bothered Matthew, because it was a lie. The Duke delighted in encouraging the various guests to sample the staff. More oddly, considering the nature of Hightower’s testimony, it was a lie that did the man no good at all. It wasn’t as though he had spared the jury of any of the humiliating details. He had described the servants and the Duke tormenting him and the other victims in excruciating detail. As much as he had told Mary what had happened in that house, he knew she was shocked and angry to hear it laid out so cavalierly. Jacob Hightower was positively delighting in twisting the knife into Philip so why would he balk at the greater revelation? It wasn’t as though the man had any love for the upper class. Matthew had tried, in the months leading up to the trial, to not torture himself with the question of what motivated a man like Jacob Hightower, but he did understand that there was a deep rage in the man that stoked his sadistic behavior. He understood his own motivations in not revealing the names of the many guests that violated him. They were victims of a lie and it was a case where revealing the truth just made the pain greater. The problem was that he knew in his heart that Hightower was the sort of man who would revel in the notion of making the pain greater.

What are you up to, he wondered, as Hightower smirked at him from the stand. Then he shook it off. Whatever it was, it hardly mattered. His own testimony, and Hightower’s, ruined him, but would take Philip to the hangman’s noose. If Hightower didn’t want to name names, he was utterly certain that Philip would.

 

Author’s note – I must thank Apollo888 for the excellent betaing on this chapter


	14. Chapter 14

“Are you sure that you want to be here, for all of this?” Matthew asked as he carefully led Mary to a seat in the gallery. “You get so angry. It isn’t good for the baby.” As if to accent Matthew’s words, the baby in her belly gave her two kicks that almost made her wince.

“Absolutely,” she said through gritted teeth. “And I think this baby wants to join me in beating the Duke of Crowborough senseless before he hangs.” She hesitated before she spoke again. ‘Are you sure that you want to be here? You look tired.” He actually looked desperately tired and weary and she knew all too well that he had tossed and turned in bed for the last week and it was starting to catch up with him. For a moment, the lighting in the courtroom struck him just so and she was suddenly reminded of how pale and shaky he had looked that first day of his return, when he had stared at her as though she was a stranger to him. “You don’t have to attend. We could go back to Grantham House and you could get some rest. No one will think any less of you.”

“No.” His tone was almost curt. He took a seat beside her. “I have to be here. It is important that the jury see my reaction to whatever vile thing Philip says, and that they see I’m not afraid of him. Staying away would only allow them to make all manner of assumptions.”

Mary knew he was right, of course, but she still worried for him. She took solace in knowing that would be over soon and she could take her selfless husband back to their home. The trial was taking a toll on him. It’s almost done, she told herself as she took his hand. The problem was that Philip was going to do whatever he could to ruin Matthew. Worse, it was simply for spite and she couldn’t abide by that. She wasn’t the nicest person, and Matthew made her a much better person, but there were lines that weren’t to be crossed even when she was feeling cruel. She knew who little Marigold’s mother was and she at some point was going to need to let the cat out of the bag that she knew Edith had a child with Michael Gregson. But no matter how tempting it was to throw it in Edith’s face in one of their many arguments, she would not do so. It crossed the line. Marigold was an innocent child and did not deserve to be collateral damage in Mary’s bickering with her sister. Philip had no such moral code. If it helped him or even if it just amused him, he was cruel. Not taking the plea deal was pure spite. He wanted this chance to stand before the jury, and especially, before her and her family, and perfor

She knew by the snide looks he gave her that Philip wasn’t so deluded as to actually believe his lies. She suspected he was foolish enough to think he would somehow be handed some sort of light sentence. She even suspected that if he was willing to throw himself on the mercy of the court and admit to being mentally sick, that he would get a light sentence. She didn’t like admitting that Matthew was right about the peerage protecting their own. But seeing how the trial was tormenting Matthew, she didn’t plan to make any protest if Philip cried like a child and begged for mercy. He could be dealt with later, if it came to that.

But as the Duke took the stand and pointedly eyed her and Matthew, she knew he was going to lash out with as many vile accusations as he could invent.

“Where to start with all the lies,” Philip said with a wave of his hand at Dobbs’s first question. “Frankly this whole business is ridiculous. No, Mr. Dobbs, I didn’t kill a stream of lower class indigents that I tried to raise up from the work-house. I admit it was a failed experiment, not a one of them ever learned to do their job, not even Crawley. All thumbs and dropping, that one. When the chaps didn’t work out, I told my trusted butler Jacob Hightower to get rid of them. I didn’t tell him to kill the bloody bastards.”

“So you’re saying you had no idea?” Dobbs asked.

“Of course not. Who bothers with making sure the help gets rid of the trash?” There was a gasp from the amassed audience and Philip rolled his eyes with disdain. “Oh really, who here follows their butler as they take a fired servant off the estate? That’s what you pay the butler for.”

Mary forced herself to not nod at that piece of information. He was right, damn him, and she knew all too well that Carson had taken more than one fired servant off the property without anyone so much as looking over their shoulder. The problem was that Philip was making a brilliant argument in his own defense. He was using the established prejudices of the peerage for his own benefit.

She wasn’t surprised that he took it to the logical next place. “Hightower killed them all. I didn’t know he was doing that. For God’s sake, that… that monster, stood here and confessed to all sorts of hideous acts and then like a coward, insists at the end of all the torture, suddenly I’m there cutting some idiot’s throat. It’s rather appalling that his word as my servant seems to matter more than mine.”

That was clever, she realized. Hightower had confessed to a number of horrible things. And Hightower was just a servant, which made it easier to turn it all back on him. It was exactly what Matthew had warned her about.

“Let’s get the unpleasantness out of the way, your Grace,” Dobbs said genially. “Are you a homosexual?”

Philip made a show of sighing heavily. “I confess, I have always struggled with my…. different nature. I denied it to myself for a long time. I courted Lady Mary Crawley, amongst others, and my dear sweet Annabelle…” Again he made a show of his emotions, touching his face to wipe away a tear that Mary doubted he’d actually shed. “Annabelle… the poor dear, if she and my little son had lived through the influenza epidemic, I suspect I would have been cured of my sickness. After their passing…. I admit it. I gave up. I cursed God for taking them away from me and I indulged in my base needs. My home was isolated and I was never popular and I hid myself off and allowed my home to be a haven to those with similar… problems. I was weak, I admit that. I let my deviancy rule me, I had parties where yes, acts that some of you would consider unforgiveable took place. Judge me if you must for that, but do understand, no one in my house was ever an unwilling participant.”

“Including Mr. Crawley?” Dobbs asked.

“Especially Mr. Crawley,” Philip intoned, a touch of amusement in his voice. “After what I just said, I know I have no place judging another’s sickness but Mr. Crawley took things to an entirely new level.” He looked out at the audience, obviously taking delight in the shocked expressions.

“So, then explain how Mr. Crawley ended up in your household,” Dobbs said.

“He asked me if he could come. Someone had told him of my… nature, a nature he shares by the way. I told him he could come if he wished… I didn’t know he was going to fake his own death. In that respect, I was as surprised as anyone when he turned up on my doorstep.”

“So the car accident, it wasn’t really an accident? Why did Crawley go to such lengths?” Dobbs asked.

This should entertaining at least, Mary thought darkly. She knew Philip was going to lie, she was just amazed at the ridiculous lengths he was willing to go to. Philip cocked his head and looked directly at her, a bitter smile coming to his face.

“Crawley was unhappy with his life,” Philip spoke loudly, obviously wanting everyone to hear. “I mean, it’s not unheard of. The blood is a bit thin in the Crawley line to begin with and he was never meant to be the Earl’s heir. He married a shrew he didn’t love because the family wanted their daughter taken care of and didn’t want to risk the heir attaching himself to someone outside their House. Oh they’ll insist it was a love match but Lady Mary Crawley was engaged to the prior heir as well, who was even closer in blood, I might add. He was trapped in a life he never wanted and knew there was no escaping his duties unless he was dead. He had planned his escape for months. As soon as he knew the baby was a boy, he considered his duty done and he faked his own death.” Philip sniffed. “I thought it was a little extreme when he showed up looking so battered about. Then he told me what he liked and it all made sense.”

“Why is that?” the defense attorney asked.

“Some people,” Philip said it almost as though he was teaching a class, “Enjoy being degraded. Maybe it was in reaction to being elevated higher than he was meant to go, I don’t know, but Crawley just… liked playacting at being an abused servant. I swear, he would break dishes on purpose just so there’d be a reason for Hightower to beat him with a riding crop. He loves nothing better than being the wounded victim. It’s not the first time he indulged this fantasy play either. Really, he broke his spine in the war and spent close to a year in a wheelchair and then magically got better? Does that even sound believable? Now he’s claiming he couldn’t remember his name for a year. It’s a lie. He’s claiming he was forced to bed me because he was beaten into submission and I assure you that’s not true. Oh, he was beaten and he thanked me for every blow but there was no forcing him. I won’t even deny that I was a little bit flattered and amused that he so thoroughly enjoyed playing the role of the servant and slave. But please do understand, nothing was done to Crawley that he didn’t expressly volunteer for. For Heaven’s sake, he used to tell me which guest he wanted me to give him to. He liked being used.”

“And his little tale of nearly being murdered?” Dobbs pressed.

Philip shrugged. “I was a fool and I trusted my butler, my lover, far too much. I think Hightower was jealous of the attention I gave Crawley. When Crawley told me he wanted to leave, that he was getting bored and wanted to wallow further, I wished him well. If Hightower whipped him bloody, well…. Hightower likes being a brute, and Crawley likes being victimized. Their sick little game had nothing to do with me. When I heard the news that Crawley was somehow magically alive, I merely assumed he had finally gotten tired of his sick little fantasies.”

Mary could see that Matthew was struggling very hard to remain calm. She understood why, she herself had clenched her free hand into a fist. It wasn’t just the outrage that Philip had accused Matthew of being a willing homosexual, it was that he portrayed Matthew as so mentally disturbed that he was delighting in being beaten.

“You knew he was going to say something vile,” she whispered to him, squeezing his hand to call him. “Mr. Beesely will tear him apart on the stand, you said that yourself.”

Matthew looked at her worriedly. “Mary… I have no way to defend against those lies. The only one who can testify to how I was in that house is Charles Blake, and he won’t be enough.” He was turning grey and she gripped his hand reassuringly.

“I know you’re upset because you’re missing the biggest flaw in his argument.” She was surprised at that but she was also certain that he had been putting on a good show of handling the trial and all of the hideous reveals for her and the family. “If you hated the idea of being Earl of Grantham so much that you staged your own death, and if you were fully aware of who you were, why would you come back to your shrew of a wife?”

After a moment his lips curled into just a hint of a smile. “He did insult you, didn’t he? I suppose after the trial, I shall have to thrash him for speaking so unkindly about my wife.” Then he sighed. “It doesn’t matter, I knew I’d be a laughingstock after this trial. It can’t get any more hideous.”

“It will all be over very soon,” she nodded to him, “And when it is, and after your child is born, we can go about proving just how heterosexual you are.”

He blushed, despite his mood. “Don’t,” he admonished her, his eyes suddenly bright. “The entire courtroom already thinks I’m a deviant. Don’t fill my mind with such thoughts.”

She was glad for the light moment between them, though they both grew anxious as they watched Philip finish his testimony. She was glad that Beesely would start parading his rebuttal witnesses later in the afternoon rather than waiting until the next day. Having Matthew in a panic overnight wasn’t good for anyone, but beyond that she didn’t think she could hold off telling him that Charles Blake wasn’t the only one in his corner.

Beesely stood up and stepped over to the stand. “Your Grace,” he said carefully, “your little tale of woe paints you as quite the fool, doesn’t it?”

“I never claimed to be brilliant,” Philip said easily. He looked confident. Mary wanted to smack the smirk off his face.

“So… Mr. Crawley knew about your deviancy, told you about his own and knew that you had established your home as a sort of sanctuary for your kind, is that correct?” Beesely waited for Philip to agree. “When did that take place?”

“Excuse me?” Philip asked. Mary realized it was a full-on attack in an instant. John Beesely, she vowed, you are forever welcome in my home as long as you live. It was brilliant.

“Yes, you’ve established you’re not very bright, your Grace,” Beesely said sharply. “But this isn’t a difficult question. You’ve testified that you and Mr. Crawley shared secrets. When did you first meet Mr. Crawley and when did you have the conversation establishing you both shared a homosexual leaning?”

Philip evaded carefully. “Oh good heavens, it was a while ago. There were parties, possibly at Downton Abbey, and I’m certain we talked during the war.”

“No, you did not, sir…” Beesely looked down at his notes. “In fact, Mr. Crawley was never formally introduced to you at all. His military service was entirely in France, on the front lines from 1914 to 1917 when he was grievously wounded… and don’t worry, I have several medical experts lined up to refute your lie that Mr. Crawley was faking his injury… but his rare social activities during the war are well documented. Your own service in Gallipoli kept the two of you well apart. You were at Downton Abbey in 1912 for a visit, which was before Mr. Crawley had moved to Downton Village, and you were never invited back until the hunt and holiday party that the Earl of Grantham held to celebrate Mr. Crawley’s return. I was only able to find two events, both large dances in London, where the two of you were both in attendance and in talking to a variety of people attending, Mr. Crawley never left the side of his wife, as they were newly married at the time, and no one ever saw you or him within twenty feet of each other, let alone having a chat about your mutual sexual deviancies. So when did you meet and when did the two of you discuss your sexual deviancies?”

“I don’t recall,” Philip said after a moment. “I meet a lot of people.” He was starting to sweat.

“How convenient. Let’s try a different question. William Murdoch’s confession was read into evidence and he said he brought Matthew Crawley to your estate because he was the type you liked, simple minded and pretty.” Beesely looked at his notes. “So why would Mr. Crawley go to the workhouse when the two of you had already arranged that he could simply show up at your home? Why would he go to the bother of being hauled out of a boxcar by a train conductor and handed over to the workhouse by police? The police record clearly describes Mr. Crawley as a ‘possible halfwit’. In his confession, Murdoch makes it clear he had no idea who Crawley was. If this was elaborately planned… How did Mr. Crawley know the police wouldn’t simply lock him up for stealing a ride on the train?”

“Maybe you should ask him,” Philip shot back.

“I did. He said he had no idea because he could barely think. It is your testimony that Mr. Crawley planned to escape his marriage by elaborately staging his death and then pretending to have amnesia, getting arrested and taken to the very workhouse that you had already established a relationship where you took in simple indigent men to work at your estate. In order for Mr. Crawley to have participated in that elaborate scam, the two of you would have needed to have had at least one lengthy memorable conversation. If not more. When and where did that conversation take place?”

Philip smiled thinly. “I already answered that I don’t recall.”

“And I have already noted how convenient that is. And odd, considering the level of planning needed. Let’s talk about something else that’s odd. Your Grace, I don’t believe a word of your self-serving testimony and all the previous testimony refutes your claims of innocence, but I’ll indulge you. You’re claiming this is all part of an elaborate hoax devised by Mr. Crawley to escape a life he despised. Why would he go back to that life after clearly getting away with it?”

“You’d need to ask him that, I think,” Philip said tightly.

“I have and his testimony is that he was severely injured and couldn’t remember his own name and it was mere luck that he was directed by a stranger to his mother’s house.” Beesely set down his notes. “I see no reason to continue listening to you commit perjury.”

“I object!” Dobbs shouted.

“The objection is sustained,” the judge said. “Mr. Beesely, you know better. Save the commentary for your closing remarks.”

“Understood,” Beesely said firmly. “I’m done with this witness. I will be calling rebuttal witnesses to his testimony.”

“Rebuttal witnesses?” Matthew muttered. “He only has Charles… No, he must plan to call Dr. Clarkson again to confirm I was genuinely injured in the war.”

“That must be it,” Mary agreed. Considering all of the lies Philip had just told, she hoped Matthew didn’t mind someone, or a few someone’s, lying to save his reputation. If anything they owed him a favor for keeping silent but she knew he wouldn’t necessarily see it that way. She held her husband’s hand as Philip was escorted down from the witness stand. No, Mary decided, no effort was too large or small if it meant putting an end to Matthew’s nightmare.

Author’s note - Many thanks to Apollo888 for being a great beta.

Also if it seems that I am not updating as quickly it’s mostly because I am working on a non fanfiction novel and I don’t get to write my “play” stuff until I do 1k a day on the “real” stuff.


	15. Chapter 15

Lunch had been a miserable affair. Matthew wouldn’t have even gone if he had been on his own. His stomach was sour and rolling, and he had no appetite, but Mary was pregnant and eating for two and that meant he was compelled to miserably poke at a sandwich while his wife, his mother, Tom, and Robert insisted that the trial was going incredibly well. Matthew had his doubts. It only took one sympathetic juror to ruin the chances of a conviction, and Philip’s lie-filled testimony did paint him in a sympathetic light, or at least raised doubts that he was as much of a monster as the prosecution was trying to portray. As he took a seat in the gallery, with Mary on one side and Tom on the other, he briefly entertained the idea of not attending the rest of it. He was exhausted, to the very bottom of his soul, and Charles Blake about to take the stand and sacrifice himself over the guilt he felt promised to be painful, especially when it accomplished nothing but Charles’s ruin. At the same time, Charles was getting on the stand and destroying himself expressly to help him. The man deserved his support.

Mary took his hand as the crowd began to settle. “Matthew,” she said carefully. “I need you to promise me something.”

“Of course, my darling,” She no doubt wanted him to be brave.

“It’s very important,” she said. “Mr. Beesely asked me to speak with you before he calls the rebuttal witnesses. When the witnesses start testifying, you need to not react if you disagree with what the witness says.” Her tone was expectant and matter of fact, as though she was being perfectly reasonable.

It wasn’t even bad advice, he just didn’t understand why she was giving it. “What could Charles say that I would disagree with?”

She smiled tightly. “Charles isn’t the only witness that will testify about your mental state in that house.” Taking in his no doubt shocked expression, she added, “Mr. Beesely also said to remind you of how the two of you often discussed unpleasant aspects of this case as… I think he put as ‘law school hypotheticals’, in order to maintain the fiction that you never directly told him about the vile assaults.”

That was the school boy code they used to pretend Beesely didn’t officially know what took place. “Mary… have you convinced someone to lie on the stand? You asked people to lie in order to send Philip to the gallows?” His temper rose. It was appalling, the very idea.

“Not directly.” Her words were bright, as though she was telling an amusing story. “You really are very stubborn, you know. Stubborn and determined to make this as painful as possible. You don’t want anyone to ruin their lives because they didn’t know that Philip had broken you through terror. I respect that, Matthew, more than you realize. But… have you ever considered that some of those men might regret what they did?” She frowned, obviously controlling her anger. “It is possible, you know. Just because Philip doesn’t care in the slightest, that doesn’t mean all of them were pleased at being tricked.”

“Mary… anyone who admits to being at that house will fall under suspicion.” He wasn’t sure how to make the point. As it was, he was struggling to not raise his voice or show how shocked he was to the people who were filling the gallery. “The only reason I am not being arrested is because of my mental state and that I was attacked… And you can be certain after Philip’s testimony that I will be investigated. Anyone who testifies will also be at risk of being investigated and unlike me, they can’t claim any exceptions.”

Mary rolled her eyes at him, as if he was being obtuse. “Matthew, can you let these men at least try to do the right thing for you? Every single man that will testify today, including Charles, feels nothing but shame and regret over believing Philip’s lies. It’s admirable that you aren’t taking the opportunity to pull them all down, that you’re willing to forgive. Maybe you need to be willing to let them accept your forgiveness and show you their gratitude. You’re giving them their lives. In return, they’re going to give you your life back.”

“How, pray tell, does this help?” he whispered fiercely.

“You’ll see,” she shot back, under her breath. “Now I may not be a lawyer but I think this is the part where we sit quietly and listen.” She locked her arm with his.

Just remember, he told himself, that while Mary was a wild tigress leaping on her victims, caring about nothing but her revenge, John Beesely was not the sort of man that Mary could twist around her finger. Beesely was willing to test the letter of the law, but not break it.

Still, he jerked slightly in his seat when the first witness was called, and it was not, in fact, Charles Blake.

“Lord Eddington, of Devonshire,” Beesely said in a companionable way, “Is it true that you have on at least one occasion been to the Duke of Crowborough’s estate for a weekend party?”

“It is,” the older man said, his voice firm.

“And when did you first meet Matthew Crawley?”

Eddington looked down. “Much to my regret, I realize now that I met Matthew Crawley at that estate party. While my wife has enjoyed the hospitality of Lord Grantham’s home many times, between the war and my own duties, I had never had the privilege of meeting Mr. Crawley officially until a few months ago. I had heard the story, of course, that he had been thought dead and only recently had recovered his memory, but I was quite shocked to realize he was the poor fellow I saw working as a footman at the Duke’s estate.”

Beesely led Eddington through the whole miserable time, leaving out some inconvenient truths about the dinner conversation, but clearly describing Phillip mocking him as a witless idiot to his face and having him publically struck with a riding crop for dropping a dish.

“Is there a particular reason you didn’t step in and stop this?” Beesely’s tone was gentle.

Eddington gulped nervously. “A man’s home is his castle, Mr. Beesely. I don’t beat my servants, and I don’t harass them for their failures and shortcomings. It's not how I would have handled a broken cup, but what I do in my home isn't how others handle their servants. It was the Duke’s home, and he had mentioned that the poor chap - Mr. Crawley - was simple minded and didn't learn without a firm hand. It didn't seem my place to interfere, especially since his Grace said it was part of a charitable venture. I regret not speaking up." "Knowing what you know now," Beesely asked, "Do you think Mr. Crawley was merely pretending to be slow?" Eddington shook his head vigorously, his expression growing pale. "Oh good heavens, no. He was so... out of sorts... The Duke told him to assist me as I had not brought my valet, and the poor fellow would lose track of what he was doing as he was doing it. I told him my name repeatedly and it never clicked with him. He did what he was told, but you could almost see the moment where he lost track of his thoughts." "He wasn't making intentional mistakes? To anger you and bring down punishment? Punishment that he enjoyed?” Beesely pressed.

If anything, Eddington looked even more aghast. “He begged my pardon every mistake he made, and thanked me for my kindness in not striking him over… over something he dropped. I saw no sign that he was enjoying his… condition, nor his situation. I thought… it was a pity that he was in a position he couldn’t really function in.”

“Not a very good footman?” Beesely seemed amused. “Well, at least one piece of his Grace’s testimony is true.” He nodded to Dobbs. “Your witness.”

Matthew tensed. He understood the game Beesely was playing. The prosecutor had likely never asked Eddington the specific damning question. He was utterly certain that Dobbs wasn’t going to ignore the elephant in the room, particularly since he clearly was conferring with Philip.

“So you were at a party at the Duke’s home, without your wife….” Dobbs made a show of thinking about his question. “What sort of entertaining did the Duke engage in?”

“Nothing out of the ordinary. I seem to recall a lot of cards being played.”

“Did the Duke offer you the use of his footmen for sodomy? That is why you left your wife at home isn’t it? So that you could partake of the Duke’s… hospitality?”

Eddington didn’t flinch. Matthew was surprised at that. “No, Mr. Dobbs. I won’t lie and say I wasn’t aware of his Grace’s peculiar peccadillos, but I thought he’d been making an effort, what with the marriage, to restrain himself. My wife and I often travel separately, and no, the Duke didn’t offer his footmen to me for sodomy. I’m happily married with two fine children.”

Dobbs threw more questions at the man but eventually gave up. As Eddington left the stand, Matthew whispered to Mary, “You were right to warn me. I can’t believe he’s put himself in this position.”

“Whatever else he is,” Mary said softly, “He’s actually quite devoted to Lady Eddington. We’ll need to resume inviting her to events at the Abbey, by the way. Lord Eddington himself assures me that he’ll find he has other plans on those occasions. Now be quiet and try not to look shocked.”

It was, he realized as the parade of witnesses went by, almost stunningly clever. Every single witness with the exception of Charles Blake, was a married man and a peer. Most of them had children. All of them were circumspect. It wasn’t the sort of thing he’d ever paid attention to, ugly rumors said more about the people spreading them than the targets, but these were men who had unimpeachable reputations. Even better, they all were telling different, if humiliating, stories of how damaged he had been and how it couldn’t have been faked. They also stressed how while treatment of the dimwitted footman edged into upsetting to witness, most gentlemen didn’t want to interfere in how another man managed his staff. All were contrite.

It was the Earl of Trelawney, a man he barely remembered from a party, and the last to testify, who gave him the reason why so many of them were willing to risk their reputations. The silver haired gentleman rolled his eyes at Dobbs as the defense attorney stood up and pre-empted him before a question was asked. “Oh for goodness sake, let me assist you. I didn’t engage in sodomy with Mr. Crawley. I’m here, testifying on his behalf because I should have stepped in and stopped the abuse I did witness, and I didn’t, because I didn’t want to create a fuss. I unwittingly took part in torturing a poor fellow who had committed no crime deserving such treatment. He’s owed an apology by me, and I accept I don’t deserve forgiveness for my part in allowing this, and he’s owed an apology from anyone who has found anything about this situation amusing. The Duke of Crowborough murdered nineteen men and would still be murdering if Mr. Crawley hadn’t had the courage to come forward and how are we thanking him? By attempting to humiliate the poor man further rather than admit that there’s a rotten apple with a title. So no, I didn’t sodomize Mr. Crawley, Mr. Crawley was so out of sorts I thought he was a near imbecile and frankly it seems a miracle that wreck of a man that I saw dropping plates and cringing in terror is the same man who testified here so bravely. He was not playing some sick game. No one is that good of an actor. Do you have any questions for me that aren’t repetitive and ridiculous?”

Beside him, both Mary and Tom snickered. Matthew heard other snickers as well, and glanced over at the jury. They looked stone faced and grim, but were mostly glaring at Philip. His Grace, for a wonder, looked pale and sickly, as though realizing for the first time that he was not getting his way. Finally, Matthew thought tiredly, finally you’re getting it. Beesely had been right from the start. They were like two fighting falcons unable to let go until the other was destroyed, and Philip just realized that there’s no way to pull out of the death spiral. It was brilliant, he realized. As much as he hated condoning perjury, multiple witnesses denying Philip’s testimony added nails to the lid of Philip’s coffin.

And, he was going to condone it. Mary had been more than a good soldier about the whole business, not only had she been at his side, never faltering no matter how awful things got, she had gotten these men to risk their own reputations to help save his. He felt a wave of shaking relief envelope him as both the defense and prosecution rested their cases. Dobbs could have recalled him, he’d left it open and Matthew suspected that was the argument with Philip, that Philip wanted him on the stand to be verbally flogged one last time.

He jumped as Mary touched his arm. “Matthew,” she said worriedly. “The jury is going to deliberate. Do you want to wait for a bit, or go outside for some air? You look a little pale.”

He gripped her hand, grateful for the warmth. “Why don’t we wait a bit? If just to avoid the mad rush for the doors.” Although as he looked around, he could see quite a few people waiting in their seats in the gallery. They expect the verdict to come back quickly, he realized. He wanted to wait for the reason he stated, that and avoiding the reporters who desperately wanted his story.

Beesely made his way to them, a smile on his face. “I’m glad you stayed, that you all stayed. I think the jury will return quickly." And his tone and smile said what he expected the verdict to be.

“You’re lucky… that Mr. Dobbs didn’t recall me.” He couldn’t let it go unsaid.

Beesely nodded. “A risk, but not a huge one. Mr. Dobbs is much like me, in that he is jaded by the unpleasant company he keeps. Yes, he should have recalled you, and absolutely yes, Philip wanted him to, but he assumed you are like the vast majority of people he sees every day. He assumed you were completely aware of what these witnesses would say and would deny any accusations. He wouldn’t have expected honesty at all. And the lie, in my opinion,   wouldn’t have affected the outcome. The nineteen bodies told the tale but Philip had to have his public say. He’s a fool. He should have taken the deal.”

“How did you come up with this plan?” Matthew asked.

“I came up with the plan,” Mary said brightly. She leaned in and kissed him on the cheek. “I knew you’d object, because that’s the sort of man you are, and I knew from talking with Charles that the men who testified had genuine remorse. It was a risk for them, and it was a risk they were willing to take to make sure that Philip was stopped and you weren’t completely vilified.” She looked suddenly worried. “You’re not angry, are you?”

“I’m… a little angry, yes, because I… don’t like being surprised at the last minute.” He kissed her, a much less chaste kiss than hers had been. “But I can’t help but respect your intent. I’m just amazed at your brilliance and that it worked.”

“I must admit,” she said, her words coquettish, “I had no idea being a lawyer was so much fun. Finding witnesses, asking questions… perhaps I should go to law school? Since you’ll be managing the estate?”

“She does have the instincts for criminal prosecution,” Beesely added with some amusement, finally deeming it safe to speak. He had to avert his eyes earlier at the rather bold display of affection by the couple.

Matthew decided to play along, if just to ease the tension of waiting. “I don’t know… I feel like I would be relegated to raising the children while my wife is off having a brilliant law career.” He grinned at her. “Do you really need to be Lady Mary Crawley, Esquire? Next you’ll be chopping off your lovely hair like those modern girls. You can be a lawyer if you like but please don’t cut your hair, or at least don’t cut it too short. I like it far too much to be without it.”

She smiled and it eased the wait as his mother, Robert, Cora and Edith all joined them. They made meaningless small talk for a good forty five minutes. They all looked up at the sound of the chime, indicating the Judge and jury were returning. Everyone grabbed seats and stood at attention as the jury was led back in. Matthew had no doubt that some of the wait was for the reporters to run back from the various snack vendors that had gravitated to the trial setting. Good or bad, the verdict was going to be the headline, he couldn’t deny that.

The jury looked grim as they waited, while Philip maintained a bored appearance. His codefendants in contrast looked terrified. Matthew understood why, even if Philip didn’t. The jury back so quickly after a lengthy trial rarely meant good news for the defense. As the crowd refilled the seats in the gallery, he was grateful that Mary had one arm firmly entwined with his, and Tom’s arm around his shoulders. Please, he prayed silently, please don’t let torturing my family with this have all been for nothing. Please let this end the way it should.

The clerk handed a piece of paper to the judge. He watched as the judge read it and then set the paper down. “The defendants will rise.”

The men all stood. He wasn’t sure if he was feeling Mary tremble or if it was his own shaking.

The judge tapped the verdict paper. “The jury has found the defendants guilty on all charges. Sentencing will be three days from now.”

There was a loud gasp from Philip and then the gallery erupted in applause. He could see Philip shouting something as he was dragged away, but then Mary pulled him to his feet and kissed him, and he automatically put his arms around her and kissed her back, letting the feel of her warm lips and the crowd’s joy wash over him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Clearly there's going to be some follow up chapters... Also many thanks to Apollo888 for the excellent betaing


	16. Chapter 16

Mary heard Anna enter the bedroom and carefully rose from the bed, making a shushing gesture to her maid. The celebration the night before had run late into the evening and while she was ready to be up and about, Matthew was still deeply asleep. Considering how poorly he’d been sleeping the last few weeks, she didn’t want to wake him, especially since there was really no reason to rouse him out of bed. The trial was done, there was no need to rush home. She wanted to attend the sentencing but she wasn’t going to force the point. It was the last chapter in this nightmare, but Matthew was ragged at the edges from the whole ordeal and needed his rest. They could always read about it in the papers if it came to that. For now she wanted him to sleep. She had passed George off to the nanny for the night so that his fussing wouldn’t keep Matthew up. She slipped on her robe, and followed Anna out of the room and down the hall to the spare room she’d already designated as a dressing room.

“Tell Mr. Bates to not disturb Mr. Crawley,” Mary said as she clutched her swollen belly. She winced. “I think the baby is angry that I got out of bed.”

“Well, I’m glad for all of your sakes that the trial ended before the baby arrived.” Anna looked her over critically. “I know Dr. Clarkson said it wouldn’t be for another two weeks but you look…”

“I look ready to pop,” Mary finished for her. She shifted her huge stomach. “George was never this active or this big.” She laughed suddenly. “Don’t tell anyone I said this but I was a bit glad to look so large for the trial. I think it will help some of the talk die down. It’s hard to accuse a man of being a nancy boy when his hugely pregnant wife is on display.”

“You’re terrible, my lady,” Anna said with a laugh as she finished helping Mary dress. Mary then made her way down to the morning room. Tom and Edith were there, reading the latest newspapers. They both looked worried as they set the papers aside. She could guess why.

“Let me guess,” she said as she took a seat at the table. “The news rags have begun the feeding frenzy?”

“My paper,” Edith said carefully, “gave the trial tasteful coverage. And Sir Richard was surprisingly tactful…”

“Everyone else showed much less restraint,” Tom growled. He tapped the newspaper angrily. “I’m positive that if the Duke kept a pack of savage Alsatians and routinely fed servants to the dogs in a pit in the garden, that Matthew might have mentioned it.”

“I think he would have mentioned all the satanic rituals that were held in the garden,” Edith added. Despite the awfulness of the topic, they all snickered.

“I suppose the truth, that he was scrubbing the floors in hopes of being allowed to have some supper probably doesn’t sell papers,” Mary felt herself grow cross and she struggled to put it aside as the baby kicked her with sudden viciousness. She winced and took the newspaper from Tom, her stomach too queasy to try eating. The newspapers didn’t help. If it were the genuine bottom feeding rags that were telling such tales she’d at least understand it but some of the lies came from the more reputable dailies. The true worry wasn’t the social aspect, she wasn’t even really concerned about that. Invites would drop off for a bit and then resume as things calmed down, and the genuine friends of the family had already made it clear that the Crawleys wouldn’t be shunned. The problem was that Matthew wouldn’t be able to even consider resuming his law career, and the notoriety of the trial meant a lot of other potential professions were out, as was helping with various civic projects, at least until the talk of the trial died down. That meant Matthew was going to be underfoot at the house and estate. As much as she enjoyed having him around all of the time, he had a tendency to wallow without something to occupy him. A new problem but, she decided after a moment, the problem of victory. And after listening to a year of how everyone missed Matthew’s clever ideas for the estate, it was time for her father to give Matthew more control. She suspected that would be difficult. Papa had the same problem she’d had for so long, it was hard to forget how out of sorts Matthew had been. It made the tenants nervous when they had to deal with Matthew and not Robert, but with the trial over and done, it was something they would have to get used to.

A good problem, she decided finally as she glanced at some of the outlandish news stories. “My goodness, do these people even consider if anyone could have survived their outlandish scenarios? Matthew wouldn’t even be able to walk if they’d beaten him with a cricket bat. Or set fire to him.”

“I thought the faux crucifixion at the unholy black mass in the garden was creative,” Tom offered. He smirked at Edith and in seconds they were all laughing.

“We’re awful people,” Mary conceded after a long moment of chuckling. The baby kicked her sharply, as if agreeing.

“It’s better we do this now, before Matthew wakes up,” Edith said, covering her mirth. “I’ve been worried about him.” She looked at Mary, and seemed to make a decision. “I’m very happy for you. For both of you. For Matthew, because none of this was deserved by him, and for you, because you didn’t deserve the nightmare you went through either. I’m glad both of you are going to come out of this whole and together, and I wish you nothing but the best. I mean that.”

“Edith…” Mary was genuinely overwhelmed. She took Edith’s hand and held it. “Thank you.” Say something nice, an internal voice that sounded suspiciously like Sybil chimed in her head. “I have to thank you as well. It hasn’t escaped me that you’ve been quietly handling your own problems without any help and yet still making sure your paper was reporting the situation fairly.” They held hands for a long moment and then Mary gasped in pain as the baby gave her a thunderous kick. “Oh….”

“Mary?” Edith stood up and went to her side. “Is it the baby?”

“It’s not supposed to happen for another two weeks,” she protested, and then gritted her teeth, realizing that no matter how much she wanted to deny it, she was having labor pains. She stayed in her seat. “You’re right, Edith. Go fetch Mama, and tell Papa to ring the hospital. Tom, please go upstairs and wake Matthew. Tell him not to panic, it’s still going to be a bit.” She hoped so, anyway. George had taken his time arriving but he also had been an altogether more placid baby while she’d been feeling this baby kick and move since her fifth month.

~*~

Matthew wiped his sweaty hands on his trousers as he sat on the hard bench in the waiting area. “Should it be taking this long?”

Beside him, his mother patted his shoulder. “It seems to be going very quickly. This is her second. You shouldn’t worry, Matthew. She didn’t have a hard time with George, and she won’t have a hard time now.”

“Quite right,” Cora said. “She’s been more worried about…. Well, she hasn’t been worried about the birth at all, Matthew.”

He caught the catch in his mother in law’s words. “What… has Mary been worried about the baby? The baby’s health?” That was so like her, he thought nervously, to be worried but to not share it with him because of the trial.

Much to his surprise, Cora chuckled. “I shouldn’t laugh,” she said, collecting herself, “but sometimes the two of you are very much alike. It’s not the baby she’s been worried about.” She put her hand on his knee, obviously wanting to reassure him. “Mary is normally the most pragmatic of my daughters but she has been nervous because…” Cora sighed. “Let’s be honest, the last time she had a baby, things went rather badly. What with the car crash, the funeral…. She worries something terrible will happen to you, Matthew, not to the baby.”

“I confess,” Isobel said, looking flush with emotion. “As joyous as this is, I can’t deny a certain… worry.”

He gripped his mother’s hand in understanding. “I suppose that worry is beyond fair,” he agreed. “I didn’t realize it was causing you, or her, any real anxiety.” But of course it was. He hadn’t felt so clueless in a long time, but the indicators had all been there. Mary hated seeing him drive. She tried to make like she was merely teasing him, but she did tense. He did still drive, the world was changing and he had forced himself to relearn the skill but his left hand did make shifting gears awkward. “I should have been more considerate of that.”

“You’ve had a lot on your mind these last few weeks,” his mother said gently. “Have you and Mary talked about names?”

“Charlotte for a girl.” That had been surprisingly easy. He liked the name and so did Mary. If he had the sense that Mary wanted to name a child after her favorite servant, he was willing to look past that. It was a good name for a little girl. “For a boy, we haven’t decided. I like William, and she likes Reginald.”

“She likes Reginald?” Isobel laughed. “Even your father didn’t like it.”

“She thinks it sounds distinguished and that William sounds too common. I pointed out that William the Great might beg to differ, and she noted she wasn’t having a Willy in the house.” He gave his mother a smile. “She didn’t like it when I said I’d call the poor lad Reggie just to spite her.”

Cora and Isobel both laughed. “I suppose then,” Cora said easily, “that we should hope for a girl, if only to make sure there’s no nicknaming the children for spiteful reasons.” At that moment, the doctor strode out into the waiting room. They all stood up, and Matthew felt more than a little relief that the older man was smiling.

“Mr. Crawley,” the doctor said cheerfully, “Congratulations! Your wife came through the delivery quite well. I’m having her moved to a room where you can see her and the babies.” The doctor looked at him quizzically. “I must say, she was rather more worried about you than her delivery.”

“Well, the last time we had a child, it went rather badly.” Have I really met the one person in London who hasn’t been following the trial, Matthew wondered. “I can’t wait to see her, of course, and the....” Then the doctor’s words registered on him. “You said babies?”

The doctor smiled. “I’m surprised your own doctor didn’t notice the signs and suggest the possibility. Your wife gave birth to twin boys. Identical, if I’m not mistaken, and they look to favor you as well.” The doctor eyed him. “You may want to sit down, Mr. Crawley. You look a little shocked. Why don’t you collect yourself and I will send one of the nurses when Lady Mary is ready to be seen.”

Matthew drew himself up. “I’m fine, just surprised. Please let me know when she’s ready.” Twins, he thought numbly as his mother and Cora congratulated him, Mary had twins. He wasn’t sure if he had a thought in his head other than how happy he was. And then he shivered as the nurse came and led him down the hospital hallway. The last time he’d been this happy, it had been when Mary had given George.

Stop it, he scolded himself. There was no reason to be superstitious. Mary wasn’t superstitious by nature, he had always been the one with the tendency, but she had not only harbored the same silly worry, she had kept it from him in order to keep him at ease. Nothing terrible will happen, if anything we’re twice blessed, he told himself. There’s nothing to be afraid of, except perhaps the fact that they hadn’t planned on an extra child. Nothing terrible was going to happen, the car accident was just an accident, not a curse, and Mary needs me to be happy and not worried.

The happiness was easy to come by when he stepped into the hospital room and saw his wife propped up in the bed, carefully cradling two little mewling bundles. She smiled at him, almost angelic in countenance and rocked the little babies. “Look at how surprised and happy Papa is to meet you both.”

He took a seat next to the bed, suspecting the smile on his face was terribly comical, but he couldn’t help it. “I imagine,” he said softly as he looked at their tiny faces, “that Mama was even more surprised to meet you.”

Mary laughed. “I can’t even tell you the terrible word I used when the doctor said there was a second baby. I think I shocked the poor man. Don’t you want to hold one of your sons?”

He did, but he also felt a sudden moment of dread. He had held George and it had felt as though his heart would burst through his chest and then… Then everything terrible happened.

Mary seemed to catch his mood. “I know what you’re thinking,” she said softly, “but it’s not the same.” She shifted first one and then the second baby into his arms. “It’s not the same at all. I think that’s why we have two. I was being silly, I admit it, in thinking that something terrible would happen simply because of what happened last time. But this is completely different. We’re in London, and we have twin sons. It’s much different than when George was born. I think having twins is a sign, a sign that we aren’t going to have the same things happen. It was just an accident.”

“Maybe it was,” he admitted. He was too awed at how tiny the babies’ hands were. “Should they be so small? They seem smaller than George…” Although his memories of George at that age were more indistinct than he liked to admit. One of the babies yawned and he watched in fascination.

“The doctor said they’re just a little bit smaller than normal, and that’s not unusual with twins. He wants me to stay here for a few days. I’ll miss the sentencing.” She sounded regretful. Then she reached over and took one of the babies back. “I can’t let you have all the fun, now can I?” She cradled the baby. “I think this one is William.”

Matthew smiled at her and then at the little baby in his arms. “Then I suppose I am holding little Reginald. Maybe we have two because God didn’t want us to argue. But we have to agree to never call them Reggie and Willy. Your mother is against spiteful nicknames.”

“That just makes me think we should name them something dreadfully twinnish. Like Peter and Paul or Donald and Ronald.” She laughed again. “I know I said that I’m done being superstitious but you’re staying her until they throw you out, and then you’re being walked home with a chaperone. I’m just… being careful.”

“So am I. I’ll sleep on the floor here tonight, if need be. I’m not leaving you, or them.” He leaned in and kissed her, mindful of the two sleeping babies in their arms. “And you’re right, you know. This will be different, except perhaps that I feel just as overjoyed. ”

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to Apollo888 for the excellent betaing


	17. Chapter 17

“It’s not required that you attend,” Tom said yet again as he walked along side Matthew. The Strand wasn’t as crowded as it had been when the trial was in full force. Tom suspected most of the casual attendees accepted the basic truth. Philip was going to be sentenced to hang. He wasn’t sure why Matthew had been so adamant about attending the sentencing. Matthew wasn’t the vengeful sort. Mary would no doubt gloat for years over Philip being sent to his death, she already took great pleasure in noting that she had ruined his face with the brandy bottle the night of his arrest. In contrast, Matthew had been much less blood thirsty. He had the sense that Matthew would have been content with a plea deal. It had been about stopping the horrors of what Sir Philip did at his home, making sure that others weren’t victimized, not revenge.

“Mary can’t attend, but dearly wanted to, so I am going in her place.” Matthew put his hands in his pockets. “And before you ask, I had always planned on attending if we won, if only to stop Mary from leaping over the aisles to give Philip one good smack on his way to prison.” He chuckled suddenly. “Until the twins were born, Robert planned to be on one side of her, and me on the other, just to be careful. But I had planned to go. Just to make the point.”

“The point?” Tom asked. Matthew had been so quiet during the trial. At Downton, even as the trial had gotten closer, he had the sense that Matthew had been genuinely healing. During the trial, it had seemed like Matthew had needed to pull every ounce of energy from already drained resources to keep going. He was pleased that since the birth of the twins, that Matthew had seemed to regain some of his good cheer.

“The point,” Matthew said quietly, “is that I won this particular war, Tom. Philip never expected that to happen. Frankly I wasn’t sure he was wrong. But every step along the way, Philip has always thought he had the power. I’m not a fool, Tom. I know what the verdict will be. The judge can’t deny the truth of the case, that Philip murdered 19 men and almost murdered me. He’s going to hang. And he didn’t have to, and…” Matthew stopped at the steps to the courthouse and gave Tom a steely, cold look. “I’m not a vengeful man, Tom, or a cruel man. I think you know that. There was a plea deal offered, and if Philip had accepted it, I would have accepted it as just and fair. It wasn’t my preference, but it would have spared all of us, including Philip, a great deal of unpleasantness. Up to the point where I had to testify aboutwhat happened, I would have allowed that plea deal to be reinstated if Philip had asked. Philip forced me to confess it all, even though my testifying is what is sending him to the noose, because Philip wanted to make me feel small, and stupid and completely in his control. So he had his moment, and I hope it was worth it, because he won the battle and lost the war and I am attending today so that he can see me smile as he’s shackled and led off to the prison where every remaining moment of his life will revolve around him being made to feel small, stupid, and completely controlled by others. I’m not going to laugh at him or say something unpleasant… But I will be there so he can see me and he _will_ know that I won. He’s going to prison and to his death, because I outwitted and manipulated him and controlled him. He loved the hunt, you see, because he was completely in control of it, and today he finds out that he’s been the fox all throughout this hunt, not the hunter, and the hounds are baying for his blood not mine. I’m the Master of Hounds, not him and he’ll have that rubbed in his face today. I’ve earned that.”

“Agreed,” Tom said quietly. Matthew didn’t let the cold eyed stranger that had survived three years in the trenches out very often, but when he did, it was chilling. “Philip was a fool to not take the plea deal.”

“He wanted to see me dance to his tune, he couldn’t resist it,” Matthew blinked, and his body seemed to relax, as if he had willed himself to put his anger away. “It would be a kindness to let him face sentencing without seeing me. I’m not that kind. I won’t go to the hanging, I don’t need to see it, and the kindness I grant this despicable man is that he won’t need to see me watch him die. But he needs to see me today.”

“Lady Mary will want to go to the execution,” Tom said as they began heading up the courthouse steps. Mary, Tom knew, was looking forward to that day and would no doubt throw a party afterward.

Matthew nodded. “It’s a point of disagreement between us but one she’ll get her way on. If Mary wants to see the man die, she can. If she needs that, then she’s more than earned it. That goes for anyone else in the family, in case it needs to be said. I have no intention of allowing the Duke of Crowborough to linger in my head any longer than necessary. After today, I don’t want to give the man a thought unless I have to, but I’m not his only victim. All he needed to do was call the authorities and my family would have known I was alive. I wouldn’t have been well, but the nightmare could have ended in late October of 1921 for Mary and my mother, for all of you, and instead it took a year. I’m not offended or bothered if anyone wants to go.”

“I hadn’t planned on going,” Tom said easily. “I think his lordship might be planning to go… More because Mary plans to go...”

“And I sense my mother wants to go but doesn’t want me to know that. So if she asks you to take her, please do so with my blessing.” Matthew smiled uneasily. “I just insist we not have some of celebratory party afterward. It seems like every time we have a party, I end up punched in the face and bleeding all over my dress shirts. I can’t imagine what horrors would befall the house if we held a celebration after the hanging.”

Tom laughed. If he knew Mary at all, she would be somewhat disappointed at not being allowed to have the party she dearly wanted but Tom suspected she would be more than appeased by having her husband and her family at her side. Mary had, in the last two years, grown up a great deal. Matthew’s accident, the time where she thought he was dead, where he had returned as a fragile shadow of himself, the ugliness of what the Duke had done… The woman Tom had met when he first came to Downton would never have managed such things, but the woman he knew now handled them all gracefully. Mary wouldn’t fuss about not having a celebratory party because she cared more about how Matthew thought about it than about her own pleasure. That was a huge change, and a welcome one in his opinion.

The gallery was filling quickly, but one of the perks of being the prosecution’s star witness was that seats were held for Matthew and anyone he might bring. John Beesely greeted them both with a friendly handshake.

“Mr. Branson, Mr. Crawley, it’s good to see you both.” He smiled at Matthew. “I understand congratulations are in order. Two fine sons, what a delightful blessing on top of a successful prosecution. You’re a very lucky man.”

Matthew smiled. “My valet Bates told me he once described me to my father-in-law as the luckiest unlucky man in the world, that no matter how terrible the news is, I somehow always end up in a good place at the end. I thought he was being facetious but he is a clever chap.”

“And he might have a point,” Beesely said, his voice taking on a more careful tone. “There’s been some news concerning the man who attacked Mrs. Bates, Greene. He finally died yesterday. You don’t have to be concerned, I had spoken with the authorities several times since the incident and there’s no plan to file charges against you. The police view it as a case of rough justice, if the man hadn’t assaulted both a woman and you, he’d still be alive, and if he had lived, well, he’d be facing his own lengthy trial. But he is dead, and I am sure Dobbs was keeping track of the case so I wanted to make sure he or Philip didn’t surprise you with the news.”

“That’s… almost proving Bates’s point, isn’t it?” Matthew said nervously. “I can’t say I’m pleased, because that man is dead due to the beating I gave him, but I also can’t say I’m not relieved that there won’t be another trial. For Anna’s sake if nothing else.”

Tom nodded as they took their seats. He was no fool, and neither was John Bates or anyone else at Downton Abbey. Anna Bates had nearly been raped by Greene. It was only luck that Matthew had taken it upon himself to go to the kitchen for ice to help his headache. In a different time, before the car accident, Tom suspected Greene would have survived his folly. At least Bates was right on that point, he thought as he worriedly glanced at Matthew. Matthew’s terrible bad luck in things was usually rounded out with his incredible good luck in having things turn out. If Greene had lived, there would have been one more trial, if not two. One where Greene was tried for assaulting Anna and the other women who had come forward, and possibly Matthew on trial for his assault on Greene. It would have kept the ugly mess in the news and instead, Greene was dead and even if Philip’s lawyer kicked up a fuss, it would all be forgotten since a duke was being sentenced to death the same day.

The defendants were brought in. Philip was still dressed like a gentleman while the other defendants were already in jail clothes, a privilege the man wouldn’t be allowed much further. The servants looked glum, while Philip looked shell shocked. The man did manage an icy glare towards Matthew. Matthew smiled slightly at him. It was over almost too swiftly. The judge pronounced the sentence bluntly. Death by hanging, and the gallery cheered. Philip glared defiantly at the judge and then at his lawyer.

Dobbs took his point, clearly. “We intend to appeal the ruling,” he said to the judge.

“That is the Duke of Crowborough’s right under the law,” the judge said easily. “But for now he’ll be staying in prison at the king’s pleasure, and a date for execution will be set.”

The bailiffs grabbed the prisoners and began to lead them out, Philip fussing and struggling as though he somehow still had the right to do so. “You can’t do this!” he cried as he was dragged out. “This is impossible!”

Beside him, Matthew maintained his slight smile. “I suppose,” he said softly, “that I am probably wrong to have enjoyed that so much, but I did. I won’t deny it.”

“You deserved that moment,” Tom said, meaning it.

Matthew stood up. “I hope and pray that this is the first and only time I will ever feel such delight in watching someone else be punished.” He seemed to consider his thoughts carefully. “Do you suppose this is how Mary feels? When she’s out and about… being Mary?”

“Possibly,” Tom said, laughing. “But you mustn’t put too much thought into that, I think.” They both chuckled. Tom was pleasantly surprised to see many of the gallery observers come up to Matthew and congratulate him and shake his hand. That boded well. It told him that people weren’t holding the disgusting events against Matthew. There would always be talk, and Tom suspected that if Mary hadn’t been pregnant that there would be more investigation. Then again, he mused, there were far too many peers who didn’t want anyone digging any further into the Duke of Crowborough’s acquaintances. Getting accepted back into the peerage and professional fold might not be as difficult as Matthew thought. Brushing aside Matthew’s past and tribulations might turn in to a sort of honor bound duty to the peerage, considering how Philip’s actions tarnished their class.

They were starting to make their way down the aisle when Dobbs the defense attorney rounded up on Matthew. “This isn’t over, Crawley!” Dobbs shouted, acting for all the world like a jealous lover that had lost a romantic battle. He shoved Matthew, which caused the crowd to murmur gasps of surprise. “I will appeal this! And you can be damn sure I’ll insist that you murdering that poor bloke in your kitchen doesn’t get whitewashed away!” As the crowd murmured more, Dobbs seemed to gather his strength for another blow. “That’s right! Crawley here beat to death a servant that caught him having an affair with his wife’s lady’s maid!”

The crowd gasped. And for a wonder, Tom watched as Matthew began to laugh as though the funniest joke in the world had just been told. “I’m sorry,” he said loudly, clearly intending everyone to hear his words. “I just couldn’t help but laugh at how ridiculous you’re being, Mr. Dobbs.”

“Ridiculous??” Dobbs shot back.

“Absolutely ridiculous,” Matthew said brightly. He gestured expansively to himself. “I mean, you’ve spent a week now insisting I’m a homosexual, a rather deviant homosexual at that. You even plan to attempt an appeal…. And now you’re publically accusing me of having an affair with my wife’s lady’s maid. A woman who happens to be married to my valet! Now I could simply point out that the incident you’re making accusations about was duly investigated at the time and it was determined I was defending myself and rescuing Mrs. Bates from a terrible fate at the hands of the now deceased Mr. Greene. But instead, I’ll just point out that you’re accusing me of being both a homosexual and an adulterous, womanizing cad. I can’t be both, so my suggestion is to pick an accusation and stick to it. You’re making a fool of yourself.”

For a moment, there was nothing but silence from the crowd of people. Then one man, and then another began to chuckle and applaud and in seconds the entire gallery was laughing and applauding.

Dobbs couldn’t get out of the courtroom fast enough.

Tom and Matthew took their sweet time.

 

Many thanks to Apollo888 for the awesome betaing. I am thinking, possibly three more chapters for this beast.

 

 

 

 

 


	18. Chapter 18

Early 1925

 

On the fateful morning, Mary received two letters. She knew what one of them was even before Carson handed them to her. The butler knew it as as well, but thankfully had the good sense not to let on. The entire household had been expecting the news ever since Philip’s appeal had failed. The first letter was the notification from John Beesely that Philip’s date of execution had been set. Mary wasn’t surprised to finally receive the news. In fact it was a long anticipated pleasure, and she allowed herself to smile at the very thought. Philip was to be executed in three weeks by hanging. It couldn’t happen fast enough, to her mind.

The second letter was a surprise to her but not an entirely unwelcome one. She took both and walked from the Great Hall, through the library, and down the hall to the office Matthew had established for himself. She was quite proud of him. Matthew had returned to Downton, literally from the dead, and with the trial now behind the, had set about reestablishing his life. He had opened a small law office for himself. ‘I’m not a fool,’ he had told her when he first raised the idea of setting up his own practice, ‘I know my reputation is tattered beyond the pale but if this experience has taught me anything, it’s that the average citizen needs legal representation just as much as someone wealthy, if not more so.’ She encouraged him to pursue it, delighted to see him motivated and ambitious again.

So, he spent his mornings in the village taking on local legal issues that the residents needed tending. She hadn’t thought it would keep him too busy but charging reasonable prices and being willing to assist someone who wasn’t as rich as a lord was a powerful and popular combination. He’d already needed to hire a legal assistant to help him handle the clients. He wasn’t making a lot of money with it, but he was covering his costs and enjoying helping others. It was his new career that he pursued in the afternoons that had surprised all of them. He had taken over the room Beesely had previously set up at Downton for interviews as a new office, bought a typewriter and had begun writing mysteries. She thought that Isobel had suggested it on a lark, but Edith, upon reading one of his stories offered to publish it. The first story was quite well received by her readers, which had led to more stories, Edith offering an official contract, and Matthew had begun work on a novel. Mary wasn’t sure how she felt about it yet. She found the stories amusing and clever, but she worried that some of the popularity of the first series was due to the fact that it was Matthew Crawley writing the stories, and he was trading on his infamy from the trial, rather than any actual skill as a writer.

She knocked on the door and then let herself in. He was at the desk, staring at the typewriter and frowning. After a moment he looked up. “Is something wrong?” he asked as he rose to his feet.

“Not wrong, in my opinion but we’ve gotten some word on the Duke’s execution.” She handed him the first letter. “It will be in three weeks.” She took a seat on the small couch that he had gotten for the room. It really was a nice work space, she thought suddenly, and Matthew had made it a reflection of himself. He had his books lining the walls, and there were framed photographs of the family. She especially adored the one on his desk, a picture of her with their three little boys. It was good to see him put his own stamp on the Abbey, she realized cheerfully.

He smiled slightly at her. “You know I have no interest in witnessing it, but if you want to attend, you don’t need my permission.” His expression took on a more serious cast. “I would suggest you go with Tom or your father. Death is unpleasant to witness in any form and a hanging can be especially unpleasant.”

“When did you ever see a hanging?” she asked out of curiosity. God knows he had seen death aplenty in the war and that last bitter night finding the bodies of Philip’s other victims had left its mark on him. Sometimes it seemed like she was always learning something new about the man she had married.

“I went to two in law school, so that I’d know what happened.” He shook his head. “It’s not something I like recalling. I’ve given my last warning. If you must go, you must. I won’t be going so I do hope you take my suggestion.”

She wondered if he would change his mind after hearing about the contents of the second letter. “There was a second letter. Philip has made some final requests. Among them is a request that he be allowed a meeting with both of us to apologize for his actions.”

“No.” That was said with more snap than she expected. Matthew’s eyes went from warm to cold slivers of ice in an instant. “I have no interest in listening to him lie, and this request is a lie, Mary. He doesn’t want to apologize for anything.”

“You don’t believe a few months in jail might have beaten some remorse into him?” She rather relished the idea of seeing Philip beaten and broken, just as he had beaten and broken her husband.

“I don’t, no,” Matthew said. “He likes to twist the knife and this is his last chance and I intend to deny him the pleasure. If I thought for a moment that this visit wasn’t an attempt to play a game, I would go.”

“It’s not like you to be so hard hearted,” Mary said after a moment. She wondered if it was wise to press him. In the last year, since the trial ended, he had often seemed soundly determined to put it all behind him. Even the nightmares had lessened. “You are always preaching forgiveness to me, you know.”

He smiled slightly as he leaned back in his chair. “You take things too far, Mary, and you stay angry over the pettiest of slights and that’s not healthy. That’s different than this. Don’t insult me by pretending you want to do this so that you can genuinely accept his apology. I know you too well. You want to twist the knife as well, and the fact that I know how able you are to defend yourself is why I have no objection if you want to go. You’re my storm braver, he can’t land more than a glancing blow.” He let his hands rest on the desk, and then his fingers began to drum on the wood. That was a warning sign although she doubted that he even realized he was doing it. It was an indicator that he was stressed and trying to hide it. It was a habit since he’d come back, something she had noticed during the awkward, often dreadful dinners early on when he was still uncertain of who was who. Then it had been her warning to divert the table’s attention from him, to let him relax. Now, she wasn’t quite sure what the best response was, since she had every intention of having that final conversation with Philip. He’s made up his mind and he’s more than likely right, she decided. She had to admit, she hadn’t thought Philip was intending any sort of real atonement. No, she realized suddenly, for Matthew at least, it was about control. If he went, even if it was him being the better man, he was dancing attendance to Philp’s whims. That means I need to let this go, she decided quickly.

“It’s your decision,” she said easily. “I’ll enjoy sending him your lack of regards.”

“I’m sure you will,” Matthew said easily. “I do want you to be careful though… in your condition.” He smiled at her, his bad feelings clearly put aside. “Is it all right if I wish for a little girl this time? Or are you determined to fill this house with boys?”

“I don’t get to choose,” she chided him as she felt her just slightly expanded stomach. They had just told the family about the new baby the night before. “I will say though that this feels… different. So maybe you’ll get your wish.” She rather thought so. Something told her the baby was a girl. She got up and walked around the desk to look at what Matthew was writing. “Who is Lady Bethany and why is she asking her lady’s maid to conceal the knife?”

“I’m trying a new sort of dynamic in this story. Lady Bethany is a lady who enjoys solving crimes while her husband is off at the war or doing business in London and Penny, her lady’s maid, is her clever helper.” He grinned at her. “I might have based it on a certain problem solving lady I know, who has a clever, loyal lady’s maid. People like following characters, according to Edith, and I have to agree it does seem to have a certain charm. Do you like the idea?”

She kissed him. “I adore it, but I do hope Lady Bethany has a dashing, noble husband.”

He returned the kiss, taking her into his arms. “I think that can be arranged. I mean, I think the author might owe you a few favors.”

~*~

“I wish you wouldn’t do this, Mary,” her mother said as they walked toward the prison. “I know Matthew doesn’t mind, he’s made that clear, but I wish you would reconsider this.”

“I won’t, Mama.” Mary said it firmly. She picked up her steps, as if subconsciously suspecting that her mother would try to stop her. “I know Philip wants this meeting because he wants to hurt me. That’s fine, since I plan to hurt him.”

“That’s what I mean, Mary,” Cora said gently. “I can’t imagine what Matthew has been through. I can’t even imagine the pain you went through thinking he was gone and then discovering all of the… unpleasantness… that happened. I just worry that… this confrontation won’t ease the pain. You’ve won, you understand that, don’t you? You have Matthew back and he’s well and happy. You have three lovely sons and another baby on the way, and by this time next week, Philip will be dead. You’ve won the war that Philip decided to wage.”

“I know, and I intend to let Philip know just how much that pleases me. You won’t talk me out of it, Mama.” She gave her mother a look as they entered the prison. “What I don’t understand is why you’re coming with me.” Her mother wasn’t the delicate flower her father often treated her as, but at the same time she wasn’t one to seek out ugliness.

“I’m supporting you,” her mother chided, “and while you’re visiting Philip, I will be visiting one of Isobel’s charity cases. She had some business to deal with but she didn’t want Matthew to think she was coming here for a different purpose.”

Her mother’s tone made it clear how she approved of Isobel being so circumspect. She’s his mother, Mary told herself, and Isobel was always more forgiving. I am not doing this behind his back, she reminded herself as she and her mother were separated for their different visits. Matthew knows where I am, and I am not lying to him because he is a strong man who has handled what life has thrown at him with strength and grace, and nothing terrible will happen to him due to my visiting Philip. And if she felt a twinge of concern, it was most likely due to how awful the prison was.

Philip was seated at the heavy wooden table, his hands cuffed and chained to the table. He was in prison garb, and she was pleased to see that he had fading bruises on his face. She was also pleased to see the proud flesh of the scar that she had caused by slamming him with the bourbon bottle. Her hand itched with the wish to strike him again but the sergeant had been very clear that she wasn’t to touch the man.

He smiled at her. “Lady Mary, how lovely of you to visit.”

She smiled back as she took a seat across from him. “Well, you did ask, your Grace, although I must admit, I rather doubted that you wanted to apologize for your crimes.”

Philip shrugged nonchalantly. “There are certain things one is expected to say in certain situations, whether one means them or not. I understand Matthew won’t be paying a visit.”

“He had no interest in listening to your lies, yes.” Mary smiled. “You look quite beaten. I find that pleasing. Tell me, how many times in the last few months have you found yourself facedown with some brute behind you, using you like a woman?”

She smiled even more at the flash of utter rage that crossed his face. It made the whole unpleasant trip worth it, to know that no matter how controlled he was sitting there, that she was right in thinking his treatment of Matthew had been revisited on him. He did manage to keep his expression calm but she knew she had scored a point.

“I see that through the years, you’ve gotten much less lady like in your language,” he said finally. “What would your dear father the Earl say?”

“That it was sad that it became a necessity for me to learn such things because of you, Philip,” she shot back.

Philip smirked suddenly, as if pleased. “Oh come now, Mary. Surely Kemal Pamuk taught you a thing or two before he died from your particular brand of loving? It’s no wonder really that Matthew was so easy to train… I’ve never had much interest in lady parts but yours seem quite cursed.” He leaned over the table. “Tell me, Mary, aren’t you curious in the slightest why it was so easy to turn your husband?”

She was silent for a long moment. Then she sighed. Philip seemed to mentally leap on that, that he somehow thought she was showing weakness. “What is it, Mary? The ugly doubts creeping in? I must tell you, we can tell our own and Matthew… did things far too well to just be a trained circus chimp.”

Mary considered her words carefully. Then she smiled, and was pleasantly surprised to see Philip’s eyes widen in surprise. Surprise and fear. Carefully she said, “Oh Philip… The worst part of this whole pointless charade isn’t that you’ve learned absolutely nothing from prison and being everyone’s new girl, or that I have to sit and listen to you attempt to breed discontent between my husband and I, or even that you’re trying to insult my womanhood. It’s that after I see you executed, I will have to go home to my husband and admit that he was right. You see, Matthew said that this was your last hurrah, your last chance to make him dance to your tune, your last chance to be hateful and in control. That’s why he didn’t come, to make the point that you’re not in control. And all I am doing is feeding your ego as you try to twist the knife one last time.“ She laughed. “Matthew was right as well that you wouldn’t land more than a glancing blow. Really, do you honestly think we haven’t discussed the terrible things you did? The terrible things you made him do? I know everything, Philip. You’re not going to shock me, and you’re certainly not going to convince me that Matthew secretly longs for men because really, if I’ve learned anything from all of this, it’s that men who love men know from a very young age what they are.”

“A convenient excuse that you can keep telling yourself. I’m sure,” Philip’s face took on an oily grin, “that Matthew didn’t tell you everything.”

She returned the grin. “He told me he used to dread having to get on his knees for you. Not just because he didn’t like the task of bringing you to arousal, but because it usually took at least an hour and even then it didn’t always happen… that when it didn’t, you usually blamed him for your failure.”

His grin turned to an angry scowl and he seemed to grit his teeth so hard, she thought he might chip one. Emboldened by his response, she felt a thrill in her chest as she circled her prey.

She held up her little finger daintily. “He also said this is a fair size comparison for you.” She winked at him as his face turned purple with rage. “It’s probably for the best that we never married Philip… I had bigger…. expectations in a husband… Expectations that Matthew has far exceeded… as I suspect you know all too well. I’ve often wondered how much jealousy fueled your nasty behavior towards your victims. Were you cruel to them because they all were much bigger than you? Or was it just Matthew?”

“You bitch!” Philip sneered, his hands tugging on the shackles

“I suppose I should thank you for one thing, as this is to be our last conversation ever,” she said lightly, looking down for a moment, before finding his eyes again and giving him her proudest smirk and lowering her voice to a hiss. “Sometimes, when we’re feeling particularly playful, Matthew makes me do to him some of the things you had him do to you. We both enjoy it immensely. He’s far more eager with me than he ever was with you. It isn’t a great mystery why, now is it?”

“He’s mine, do you hear me? Mine!” he shrieked as he jumped to his feet. He was so enraged, he actually pulled the table a few inches off the floor before the guard rushed in to stop him. “I _will_ make you pay, Mary!”

“How?” she responded, her tone casually disinterested as she stepped towards the door. “The next time we’ll see each other, you’ll be wearing a lovely new rope collar, Philip.” And then she was pulled out of the room by the prison sergeant with Philip’s screams of rage following her. Her only regret was that Matthew really had been right. As delightful as provoking Philip had been, the truth was that she felt both triumphant and soiled, soiled because she had let the man get inside her to needle her. She took a moment to collect herself before walking briskly away. It’s more than time to stop letting Philip have any place in our thoughts, she murmured, suddenly desperate to get back to her husband.

~*~

It was always lovely to join Matthew and his family for tea, Isobel thought as she took a seat next to Violet in the parlor. It was especially nice to see and hold her grandsons. “I think,” she said with a laugh as little William gurgled sweetly at her, “that these two are soon to catch up with George, Sybbie and Marigold.”

“We’ll need more dollies then,” Edith said from the floor where she and Marigold, Tom and Sybbie, and Matthew and George were all paired off and apparently assisting in a full on assault of the newly purchased doll house.

“You know,” Matthew said brightly, “I saw a delightful advertisement for a toy train set where there’s an actual electric engine and you can control the train. And there’s little models and you can make a whole village.”

“Oh, I saw that!” Tom said, his eyes bright. “You can build a town and make model trees and forests. I think the children would really enjoy that.”

“I think their papas and possibly their grandpapa would enjoy it even more,” Mary said dryly as she carefully took a seat. The next grandchild will come soon, Isobel thought happily, smiling at Mary’s larger figure. She and Cora both hoped it would be a girl. A girl would make their family complete. Isobel hoped with the trial and execution done, that the new child would be the icing on the cake, a signal that they could move forward to a new era.

“Are you doing well, Mary?” Violet asked. “I admit, I worry a little with you having a child so soon after the last.”

“I’m quite well, Granny.” Mary sipped her tea. “Though I might not want to have another quite so soon again.” After a good bit of play, the children were swept up by the nannies. Isobel felt it was a silly way to raise children, and took heart from the fact that Matthew took after his own father in taking a keen interest in his children. She couldn’t even find fault with Mary any more, the younger woman had softened her stance on following upper class traditions to where she’d seen Mary playing with her children outside the strict hour before dinner tradition, most often with Matthew. ‘They really are a good match,’ Isobel thought as they all rose to enter the dining room.

They were halted by Robert, who had been called to the library for a phone call. He looked not quite upset, but worried. Worried about the news he was about to give, that was clear. “I’m afraid,” he said, his voice nervous, “that I’ve received some news. Not exactly bad news, but unsettling news.” He looked directly at Matthew. “Matthew, Jacob Hightower is dead. It seems that several inmates in the prison accosted him while they were being taken outside for exercise. There weren’t any witnesses. One minute he was walking and the next minute he was stabbed and bleeding on the ground. The guards say he was despised by the other prisoners but the attack came as a surprise. They’re investigating of course...”

It was as if a weight that none of them had even seen rolled off Matthew’s shoulders. It bothered him more than he allowed us to know, Isobel realized. He was so like his father in that, she thought as he straightened up, keeping his worries to himself so that those around him don’t worry. But clearly it had worried him to know that Hightower could theoretically leave prison at the same time his sons were heading off to university. His relief eased her mind on several points.

He seemed to carefully consider his words. “I won’t lie, Robert, and say that I’m anything but relieved that the man is dead. He deserved a much worse sentence than what he received. But let’s not delight in this. He’s dead. He’ll face whatever justice exists in the next life, and he’ll never trouble this family again. For that alone, I am glad.”

“Well said,” Tom said, clapping him on the back. They all went to the dining room, although Violet dropped back to her side.

“I see you and Cora took my advice,” the older woman intoned softly.

Isobel nodded. “I admit, it wasn’t as difficult a decision as you might think.”

“If it had been my son, and my decision,” Violet’s voice trembled just a little, “that man would have been killed months ago, and not as kindly as a near instant death. I know you were against it. What changed your mind?”

“Cora changed my mind,” Isobel stopped walking and looked at Violet. “You dismiss her too easily, you know. She did all the work on this. I couldn’t go to the prison without Matthew being suspicious.”

“As it happens, as much as I didn’t care for the match when it happened, I’ve come to the conclusion that I could have done much worse for a daughter-in-law. But you must never let her know that, Isobel. Now, how did she convince you?” Violet was amused and curious.

Isobel wasn’t sure she’d find the answer so amusing. “She made the rather blunt point that when the time came for Jacob Hightower to be eligible for parole, twenty years in the future, there was a good chance that we’d all be dead and our grandchildren would be exactly the right age for a sick man like Hightower to victimize. Then I remembered in the trial how matter of factly he said that he’d made a mistake in not killing Matthew.” She felt the cold steel of her soul harden as she looked at Violet. “My son is alive today because Philip had a whim. Jacob Hightower is exactly the sort of man to sit in prison and count the days until he can correct his mistakes. I made the decision then and there.” Seeing Matthew’s obvious relief told her that she’d made the right call. He deserved to have that fear quenched.

“Well, good riddance to bad trash, as nanny always said,” Violet said pleasantly. “Now let’s not keep everyone waiting on us.” As they walked to the dining room, Violet added, under her breath, “Never doubt that decision, Isobel. If the two of you hadn’t arranged it, I would have. For the same reasons as you and one more.”

“What reason is that?” Isobel had to admit, she didn’t see any other reasons other than the ones already discussed.

“Once the glow from the new baby wears off, it would have occurred to Mary,” Violet said knowingly, “and while she’s a very clever woman, she reacts emotionally when it comes to her husband and her children. We don’t need another trial, now do we? Cooler heads make better decisions about such things.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's like one more chapter coming, an epilogue set in early 1945


	19. Chapter 19 - Epilogue

_Late Spring, 1945_

“How could you be so stupid, Matty?” Matthew “Matty” Crawley Jr. flinched as his seventeen year old sister Violet dragged him through the great hall of Downton Abbey. She spun him around as they reached the door to the library. “You look like a trashy little evacuee street thug! You know better than to get into fights, especially now! Mama and Eleanor are so upset and you’re going to make it worse, you stupid little accident! Papa will be livid!”

“Lady Violet!” Matthew looked up in surprise at Barrow, the butler’s harsh tone. The silver haired man stormed down the hallway, his fair skin flushed with anger. “You will lower your voice, milady. Your mother has only just now left young Mrs. Eleanor’s side to get some much needed rest. I will not have you wake her over some childish, is that understood?”

A surprise, Matthew thought. Barrow rarely had a harsh word for any of them. He was their defender when they were naughty, suggesting milder punishments than those their parents wanted, and he always was kind in correcting the children. Matthew wasn’t fool enough to think he was one of Barrow’s favorites, that was Violet who reminded Barrow of her great grandmother and namesake. And George, of course, George the firstborn.

George who was to be buried the next day, with his young wife Eleanor and their two little daughters looking on. George had been Barrow’s favorite. When the news had come, Barrow had wept in the pantry until Uncle Tom had hugged him and gotten him to drink a hefty glass of scotch. The older man still looked shocked and devastated Matthew quailed as Barrow looked him over, clearly finding him lacking. “What trouble have you gotten into, Master Matthew?”

“I got in a fight. In the park, with a boy.” Matthew hung his head. He knew he was in trouble, regardless of the situation. His father had no patience for fighting.

“You’re so stupid,” Violet hissed. “Papa will be so angry! I wish you were never born!”

Matthew almost shivered in fright. It wasn’t the first time he’d heard that from Violet. It seemed like he’d always known her resentment at losing her place as the youngest when he’d been born ten years earlier. He was an accident, an extra unneeded boy, an unexpected late child for his parents with brothers and sisters all much older. George had been sixteen, Reg and Will fourteen, Charlotte thirteen, and Violet just seven but quite put out to not be the youngest anymore. Then the door to the library opened. His father stepped out, frowning darkly at both of them. Uncle Tom followed. They both looked stern. Stern and sad.

“Violet,” the Earl intoned, taking off his reading glasses as he spoke, “let me decided whether I will be so angry. And lower your voice. Barrow is right. Your mother and Eleanor don’t need to be disturbed.“ He turned his stern gaze to Matthew. “Why did you get into a fight, Matty?”

And suddenly he didn’t want to explain what happened, but he knew his father wouldn’t accept that. “I got in a fight with Joseph Emerson.”

“With everything happening, he got into a fight,” Violet hissed. She spun around to face their father, her dark eyes flashing. “You told us both to check on the florist order and while I was doing that, he picked a fight with Joseph.”

“I didn’t pick the fight,” Matthew protested, his own anger rising. “He said something nasty about George! And Papa! He said George and Will and Reg were dead because they were nancy boy poofs and so was Papa and that...” His voice trailed off as everyone, even Violet, blanched at his words.

He hadn’t even gotten to the worst part.

Violet lowered her gaze, looking chagrinned. “He didn’t mention that part, Papa…”

“And I am sure you didn’t bother to give him any opportunity to explain as you dragged him back here,” Papa said, his voice tired but stern. “Violet, you’re going to university in the fall, and you already have a giant strike against you in becoming a lawyer, because it’s a man’s job and you’re a woman. Don’t give the naysayers ammunition by flying off the handle at the smallest of things. Learn to seek the truth of things before you take it to the penalty phase. You have a temper and you will need to control it if you want to be a lawyer. Don’t disappoint me like this again. Now go upstairs and see if Eleanor or your mother need anything.”

Matthew was surprised that Violet simply nodded and then ran up the stairs. But then, he dreaded hearing his father say he was disappointed. “I’m sorry, Papa. I should have known better.”

His father looked down at him and sighed. “Well, you don’t look too terrible. I assume you won?” Matthew nodded. Papa gave Uncle Tom a tired, knowing look. “Matty and I need to have a talk. It bloody well figures I have to do this today. And an Emerson again. Remind me what I did to them?”

“You refused to defend Stephen Emerson when he was arrested for theft because you knew he was guilty and when his brother tried to jump you, you thrashed that brother on the street in front of the pub and noted how pathetic it was that he couldn’t even win a fight against a man with a crippled hand.” Uncle Tom smirked at Papa. “Don’t worry. Paula and I can manage for a bit, and Barrow has everything tip top.” Uncle Tom hesitated. “You know Mary will understand.”

“And I need to check on the work in the cemetery,” Papa said. “Matty fetch my walking stick. You and I need to have a little talk. About a number of things.”

It wasn’t hard to keep step with his father as they walked to the small cemetery that was bustling with activity. Papa didn’t quite limp, not like old Mr. Bates who ran the village inn but on longer walks he tired easily. An old injury, his mother had said when he asked once, and had shushed him about it. I’m going to get it, Matthew thought as his father pleasantly greeted the cemetery workers who were finishing up the preparations for the funeral the next day. It was George’s funeral, and it still hurt because the war was almost over and George had been due to come home. Don’t cry, he warned himself. If you cry you’ll make Papa even more angry. It wasn’t that crying was forbidden, Papa and Mama both had said it was what people did when someone died. He had cried at Will’s funeral, and Reg’s, and Reg’s had been worse because of the empty casket. Will, Reg, and George had all volunteered, and so had Lottie although she had just driven trucks so that a man could be spared for the front. Even Papa had resumed his military career, ending the war as a colonel, helping train soldiers at his old regimental headquarters. He couldn’t fight of course, and was far too old to go, but insisted he couldn’t let the burden fall squarely on his children. Reg and Will were both pleased as punch to be trained as fighter pilots, laughing and joking that poor George would have to wave at them from his tank, but then Will died flying sorties over London and then six months later Reg’s plane went down in the Channel. Mama had wept bitter tears for months and refused to let him out of her sight. Papa, George, Lottie, Grandmama Cora and Uncle Tom had been worried about her, he could remember overhearing them talk but slowly she had been able to step back from her grief. He wondered if it was easier for her with George because Eleanor and George’s daughters little Isobel and baby Anne Marie were there. George had come back from his initial training with Eleanor in tow, a pretty girl from London who had volunteered like Lottie. In three years of marriage, they’d had two little girls. If there had been a boy, then he wouldn’t have to be earl.

His father led him away from the area where the workers were digging. “Matty,” he said, his tone oddly jovial, “What do you want to be when you step out into the world?”

Matthew sighed. He knew the conversation was coming. “I have to be the Earl, I know, Papa.” He was just ten years old and the burden was never supposed to fall to him, not with three older brothers.

His father stopped, and looked at him, a slight smile on his face. “Oh Matty, it’s not the chore it looks like, although I remember all too well feeling that way.” He took a seat on one of the stone benches and gestured for Matthew to join him. “Looking at these many gravestones, I am struck by how you are a very young boy to have such an old father.”

“You’re not that old, Papa,” Matthew said worriedly. His father didn’t look his age, Mama often remarked on how handsome he was with the little bit of gray that colored his blond hair, but some of his friends had grandfathers as old as his father.

“Well, I was much older than you when I first found out I had to be the Earl. You’re handling far better than I did. I was twenty seven and I whined like a little boy to your Grandma Izzy until she was quite short with me. And the circumstances were much less trying.” Papa‘s bad hand gripped his cane reflectively. “But that’s not what I asked you. Lottie is planning to be a nurse, Violet wants to read for law. What would you like to do?”

“I want to write books like you, Papa. Or maybe newspaper articles like Aunt Edith and her friends. Or both, like Mr. Hemmingway, and travel and have adventures.” It was a well cherished dream, and he hoped Papa wouldn’t laugh.

Papa smiled. “Well, that sounds exciting, certainly. And if you really want to write, both Aunt Edith and I can help you, but my point is that being the Earl doesn’t mean you have to give that plan up. I was a lawyer, and a soldier, a writer, and now I’m in the House of Lords.” His voice shook just a little. “George was planning to go to the seminary… Said he didn’t think he could be anything else after what he’d seen…. And that’s neither here nor there now. My point is that all this is for you is a change, not an end and that you will be a lot of things in this life.” Papa gave him a knowing look. “Did you know I once worked as a footman?”

“A footman?” It puzzled Matthew because the footmen they hired for parties were usually young village men. With the war, hardly anyone had servants. More odd, his father was hardly suited with his bad hand.

“Everyone in this world has secrets, Matty. I wouldn’t have planned having this talk, about my secrets, on this day, but the time has come. It always comes.” His father looked at him, and Matthew realized his mother was right. While Reg and Will had been blond as little boys, their hair had darkened and their eyes had been more hazel than blue. He, and George and Lottie, favored their father. “When Joseph said I was a nancy boy poof… What else did he say?”

Matthew blushed. “It was something you and Mama would say I shouldn’t say.”

“He said I was a cock sucker, didn’t he?” Papa pressed. After a moment, Matthew nodded, feeling his face grow red. “Did he say who I did this to?”

“Someone named Philip. And Jacob. And… Mr. Barrow. That you like it.” Matthew looked at him worriedly. “I couldn’t let him lie like that.”

“And that is where it becomes a tricky business.” Then his father laughed. “It’s best to never tell lies unless you have to, Matty. You can avoid the truth sometimes, but a lie will always be caught out. I never did that to Mr. Barrow,  and I never liked it, your brothers were brave men who died far too young, they weren’t nancy boys or poofs and they never performed that act. So you’re not in trouble for besting that nasty little brat. But you see the truth I am avoiding, don’t you? You’re clever like your mother.”

Matthew nodded. “You said you never did that to Mr. Barrow but… you didn’t say anything about the other two.” Which was ugly because it meant Joseph Emerson wasn’t lying.

“I’m afraid you’ll have to grow up a great deal in the next hour, because I promised myself that once the story reared its ugly head, that I would tell each of you the truth, Because I love and respect you all far too much to let someone else tell you. So know that your brothers and sisters have sat here before, usually after a fight. Tell me, Matty,” and he stretched out his bad hand, showing how three of his fingers stayed curled, “has anyone told you how I hurt my hand? How I got the scar over my ear?”

Matthew shook his head. He’d been curious but the few times he’d asked, no one really answered, and he figured it was something from the war, since everyone said Papa had been badly wounded. “I thought the war because everyone avoids it. No one will say.”

His father sighed again. “And it’s easier to avoid it because you’re so much younger than the others. It wasn’t the war. I was in a terrible car accident. It was the day George was born. Your mother was told I was dead.” He laughed suddenly. "There’s a lovely tombstone hidden away somewhere nearby, waiting to be reused since we already spent the money. There was a funeral, Matty. A large one, I’m told. Your mother spent a year grieving me, thinking I was gone.”

“Where were you?” Matthew asked, suddenly interested, despite the grim tone.

“I was lost, so lost that even now it seems like a miracle that I am sitting here.

~*~

She wiped her eyes as Matthew stepped into the bedroom. “I’m sorry,” she said simply. “This is a nightmare of horrors and I’ve left you to fend for everything.”

Matthew shook his head. “You haven’t left me with everything. I know you’re spent all day consoling Eleanor and convincing her that she could go on.”

“I told her she could stay here,” Mary said quickly. “She was worried her family in Essex might have difficulty supporting a young widow with two little girls. I know Mr. Adamson owns the inn he runs, and they do well enough but that will fall to the older brother Robbie and his wife.”

“Of course she can stay here,” Matthew said as he took a seat next to Mary on the bed. He took her hand. “Eleanor can stay as long as she wants, and she can raise our granddaughters here. That doesn’t even need to be said. And everything is ready for tomorrow. Daisy and her two daughters have prepared enough food for everyone who comes to pay their respects. Andy and Harris have the tables set and the rooms prepared for guests.” Guests who were coming to pay their respects at the funeral of his eldest son and it was a bitter pill to swallow. Be strong, he reminded himself, Mary is trying very hard but you must be strong for her. If his heart felt broken to pieces, it had to be ten times worse for her.

At the same time, he also had to warn her. “I talked with Matty today.”

“My poor little boy. You mustn’t take him to task if he cries tomorrow.” She rubbed her eyes again. “He must feel the weight of the world crushing down on him.”

Matthew let himself smile. He had to admit, he was feeling more than a small amount of pride over how his youngest child had born some ugly news. “He was quite stoic about it. Sad, of course, and worried. It relived him, I think, to find out I thought he was as capable as George.” It suddenly filled him with sadness. “He’s going to miss George the most I think. It was always George who played with him, who took him for hikes and adventures. Do you know he wants to be writer? And an adventurer like Hemmingway. Such a clever chap he is. I need to spend more time with him.” He took her hand and gripped it firmly. “He got in a fight today, and you mustn’t be angry about the bruises on his face.” He hesitated just a little. “It was over Philip. One of the Emerson boys decided this was a lovely time to raise the topic. As it is I had to warn poor Barrow that this time his name came up.”

She gripped his hand firmly and pulled him into her arms. “I’m so sorry. Of all the days for you to have to… talk about this.”

“No,” he said carefully, “we aren’t doing that. There’s never a good time. I’m glad it’s done, it’s finally over. And for all I thought Matty was too much like me and not enough like you, he asked to see the scars on my back. None of the others did, not even George. Then he said he wished you’d gotten both sides of Philip’s face with that bottle of bourbon. That boy might be my spitting image, but he’s a storm braver like his mother if I ever saw one. He’ll have questions for both of us, I think, but I told him to wait until things are more settled. He’s very worried about you, that tomorrow will remind you of that time, and he wants to be beside you tomorrow at the service. He also thinks if he is to be the next Earl, that we should start calling him Matthew and not Matty.” He smiled, despite the awfulness of the day, at the face Mary made. “He’s ten, Mary. More than old enough to not like being little Matty. I assure you I didn’t allow it past my sixth birthday, and he has made you exempt from this new rule for now but I suspect you might find him a tough master when he becomes the earl.”

He meant to joke, but it hit her wrong. She hugged him tightly. “Don’t talk that way. Not now, not ever. The only reason I bore that time was George, and now he’s gone, and poor Will and Reg gone before they could even marry. I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you.”

“Well, there’s no reason to fear,” although he did worry how she’d fare if he succumbed to the same heart trouble his own father had. Ironically he had already outlived his father by five years and felt fit enough. “And if the worst happened, you’re not alone. You have Matthew Jr, and Violet and Charlotte to watch over. They all still need their mother, even if Lottie and Violet both are determined to vex you by being so determined to work.”

“Carson would be so appalled, my little ladies wanting to be nurses and lawyers.” Mary sighed. “But it’s a good thing. The world isn’t the same and I think it’s good they want to be more than ladies waiting for a husband. I sometimes wonder, if I’d had their opportunities… You and John Beesely both said I’d have made an excellent lawyer. I’m glad Violet has the chance to try.” She leaned in to him, her body suddenly shuddering. “I’m not sure I can bear tomorrow.”

He kissed her softly. “I will be there to hold you up, and we will bear it together. I love you so very much.” As he held her, he knew they would get through the next terrible day together.

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was so much fun to write and I want to thank everyone who gave kudos, comments etc. I know this ending is a wee bit of a downer but I wanted to be accurate as to how ww2 played out. If you have questions or if there's a scene that didn't happen that you'd like to see, let me know. I am not against playing in this 'verse again.


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